#a dude who was playing/singing in the town centre

[lucky-draws]

22.4.23

#sketchbook #a dude who was playing/singing in the town centre #he was doing some cheesy rockabilly and wearing a rather horrid pink shirt and had a curly mullet and a bright red #amp/kick drum and i drew him bc i found him a little funny #but then his mate noticed me drawing and came over and was like can i show him these #so i ended up saying hi to the dude and he took a photo of my drawings to print off because he said #a couple of people had drawn him before and he has the pictures on his wall and i was like ok aw aww. #sorry for thinking your singing was bad mister ♥️ #i didnt have any colours with me so i bought some cheap kids felt tips so i could do a coloured sketch LOL #i need to start keeping an actual pencil case in my work handbag rather than just a loose pencil or two

[lihikainanea]

Tiger getting really small on a long car ride and just needs a release but Bill wants her to help herself. She’s so embarrassed and nervous, especially when after the first one, Bill tells her to take off her panties. She’s probably crying and Bills caretaker side intervenes after abbot and he pulls over.

FUCK MY HEART.

Oh man, this one got me going sweet nani.

Because there’s just something irresistible about a dude driving, especially on a long road trip. The sun is streaming in on his side, the music is playing real low and he’s singing along to it. Sunglasses on, tiger is treated to his stunning profile for a long while and she’s just taking it all in--that cute nose, those nibble-able earlobes, those soft pouty lips.

He has one hand on the steering wheel and his other hand is covering hers in her lap, and it’s totally engulfing it. One big paw, soft and warm, just cradling hers gently. He’s smiling softly at her, stolen glances every now and then, he smells so good and he’s just murmuring gentle questions at her--asking her if she’s hungry, if she wants a coffee stop. At one point he didn’t like how cold her hand was getting under his so maybe he pulled off to the side, shrugged out of his sweater and wrapped her up in it. She’s nodding off to sleep at some points and she’s waking up to his big thumb stroking over her knuckles, his gravelly voice saying good morning, sunshine. All tiger wants to do is take that thumb and stick it in her mouth and never ever let go.

So OF COURSE she gets all small about it. She always does. Long road trips have always been therapeutic for her, he’s always just so good to her, and she’s so damn comfy. Tiger has such a soft spot for the most run down, dingy roadside diners--she loves the stories they have, what the walls have seen. Tiger’s dreamer side comes out when Bill gets her on the road, he fills her with cherry pie from sketchy roadside stops, they stop for baskets of fresh berries at farmers’ stands on the side of the highway. Every time he gasses up, he goes in and gets her one of the most gluttonous, questionable snacks he can find--corndogs, random full plates of nachos, cotton candy.Tiger loves that kind of thing.

She loves it, just her and her Big Dude, and miles of open road. Maybe they have a destination in mind--maybe they don’t. They do that sometimes, just get in the car and pick a direction, and they’ll spend two weeks just driving. They stay in run-down motels, the kind with the flickering neon signs, and their rule is that they’re only allowed to use paper maps. Phones are tucked away in pockets and rarely consulted--and for good reason too, considering that they rarely get a good signal on the open road. Bill feels like he can relax and let go, because he can say with confidence that there is not a single soul in that rundown bar in some no-name town who knows who he is. And instead him and tiger just take up a back table and drink cheap bourbon all night, she insists on riding the mechanical bull and Bill can’t even film it, he’s laughing so hard. She crushes peanuts with her empty bourbon glass, and it’s the type of place where you just have to holler at the bartender for another round. Just the two of them, in their truest form of self, head over heels for one another.

And it probably takes a few days, but it absolutely gets her a little floaty. Seeing her Big Dude so happy, so relaxed, so care free. And seeing the way he quietly frets over her--and the more he does it, the more tiger lets him do it because it’s just nice, you know? It’s nice to be told that they’re stopping for lunch because she must be hungry. It’s nice to have a lap packed full of snacks when he folds back into the car at the gas station. It’s nice to have her hand held in his big one, to wake up to his voice singing along softly to the radio. It’s nice to be wrapped in his sweater to stay warm, and everything is just...him, you know? He’s everywhere, in all of her senses.

And maybe they had such a sweet night, the night before. One of those reeeeeally long nights, where everything was just so perfectly intense, so perfectly intimate. Tiger can sometimes get squeamish with those things, but she just felt so safe that she was the one who slowed it down. She was the one who propped him up, who murmured a quiet slow? against his lips as she straddled his lap, she was the one who kept his face cradled in her hands while she rode him. It was, by far, the best thing that either one of them had ever experienced, and it just seemed endless. And she still felt it when she woke up, that delicious tingle, that overall body shiver that still has her eyes a little glossy, her head a little spaced.

So it’s really no surprise when a few hours into the drive the next day, she starts to shift uncomfortably. Starts to whine a little under her breath, and it’s low but Bill could hear that whine anywhere--she’s getting fussy. But she ate breakfast not that long ago so she’s not hungry, she’s not cold, she’s just...needy. And oof, that’s Bill’s favourite. He wants to hear that all day, every day, his girl needy for him.

“Hush,” he soothes squeezing her hand tighter. But she whines again, a little louder this time, and god it goes right to his groin.

He doesn’t say anything, he just lifts his hand and taps two fingers against her mouth. She grabs hold of his wrist, sucking his two digits into her mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, and she coos at that. And it soothes her for awhile--until it doesn’t. Until she whines again, shifting her hips, and Bill has to bite his cheek to stop the shit-eating grin from tilting his lips up. God, he just loves it.

“What’s wrong sweet girl?” he asks. She huffs, but it earns her an empty mouth and a flick on the nose. She cries out in despair.

“Tell me,” he says, and it’s soft but there’s the undertone of an order that she catches.

“I need you,” she mumbles, and she crams two fingers back into her mouth. But oh, that just won’t do.

“What’s that?” he withdraws his fingers and she whines again.

“I need you.”

“Can you speak up?” he goads, “I can’t hear you.”

“I need you Billy,” she whines, and it’s pitiful and desperate and just a little angry.

“I know you do sweet girl,” he picks up her hand, and this time he guides two of her fingers into his mouth and wets them, “Help yourself for right now.”

“What?”

He puts her hand between her legs, hiking up her jean skirt and pressing on her mound.

“I can’t help you right now kid,” he tells her, “But I really, really want you to do it.”

She squeaks a little, but he presses his hand down over hers again.

“Can you do that for me?” he asks.

And it’s everything. it’s the words, but it’s also the tone of his voice--so encouraging, so warm and velvety.

“But I...” she trails off on a sentence she wasn’t quite sure of anyway.

“I want to see,” he purrs to her, “I want to see you make yourself feel good. Can you be my good girl and do that for me?”

and that’s the nail in her coffin. She can be his good girl and do that for him--so she does. She shimmies out of her panties and she goes to throw them in the backseat but Bill grabs her hand, snatches them and shoves them in his face for a sniff instead. He groans and she whimpers, shifting a little to get her skirt a bit higher. With one hand on the wheel, Bill uses his other hand to pull her knees apart and hold one against the centre console.

“Better view,” he winks, “Go on.”

She starts off slow, just two fingers running up and down her slit and she shudders. God he swears he can hear how wet she is, and he cracks his neck when she moans as she circles her clit.

“Good girl,” he encourages, “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m too wet,” she whines, “I’m going to make a mess on the seat.”

And she meant it as a legit whine, but god Bill could have torn the steering wheel right from its socket when she said it.

“Keep going,” he grits out, “Just like how I would do it.”

She opens her leg wider, pushing two fingers in and moaning. it doesn’t take long, a few pumps and she’s already stiffening.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “Come for me.”

And she does. With one hand braced on the dashboard, Bill holding one of her knees, she cries out and lunges forward as she comes. She’s so lost in it that she doesn’t even register the car veering, the brakes being applied a little too harshly, the gears grinding as he throws it into park. She opens her eyes blissfully and pulls her fingers out. She doesn’t even have time to look for something to wipe them on before Bill is grabbing her wrist and licking greedily at them.

“Backseat,” he moans, “Right fucking now.”

“But I just--”

“Back. Seat.” he growls, and he holds her panties up, “And these are now banned in the car.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #sub tiger

[welcometowcwmondaynitro]

WCW Monday Nitro 09/09/1996

Shit be exploding, so you know what time it is.

Yes sir.

Once again we are not given a location this week, which generally means the town is too small-time for the big shots at WCW to even consider giving a shout out to. My research tells me this broadcast comes from the Columbus Civic Centre in Columbus, Georgia.  

As always we are introduced to our first hour announce team, Schiavone and Zbyszko.

Tony is looking quite smart this evening. Larry as expected has a horrific multcoloured abomination on underneath his jacket. It’s basically his gimmick a this point so whatever. 

They talk about how the balance of power has shifted to the nWo and Larry says Giant is “the biggest traitor since Benedict Arnold”, nice ancient reference there, Larry. We get a recap of last week’s awesome show-ending brawl. 

Once they’re done wrapping this up, Goldberg’s music plays. What? I check my file - yes, definitely 9th September 1996. Has Goldberg time travelled back to 1996 and changed history by debuting early?

Well, either that is one hell of a disguise or no, actually Goldberg’s theme music was first used by this Japanese guy called Pat Tanaka. It’s really weird seeing this random fella walk out to Goldberg’s music. The crowd boo mildly - I guess just because he’s Japanese? I don’t remember there being any storyline reason to boo him, anyway. 

Pat’s opponent is... this.

Looks like a mascot from a early/mid-90s video game brought to life. If this is Super Calo then I am curious as to what regular Calo is like. I am unsure as to what makes this version ‘Super’, but maybe we’ll find out in the upcoming match. Mike Tenay joins the announce crew because it is Calo’s debut and Tenay is the only one likely to know anything about him.

Pat Tanaka vs Super Calo

I was kind of hoping Tanaka would start the match with a spear and then jackhammer Calo into oblivion, but no such luck. 

As one would anticipate from a man dressed like a stereotypical kung-fu master in an 80s movie, Tanaka starts the match off with some kicks.

Calo jumps around pointlessly and then gets kicked in the face. Bants.

Tenay tells us Calo’s name and look comes from the “top rap group” in Mexico. He does not name this group. Confusingly wikipedia claims Calo is named after a Mexican rock group with the same name, but his image is meant to convey a rapper. So, just... what? Also what rapper has ever looked like Super Calo? In Mexico is that how rappers dress? 

Well anyway this odd fellow somersaults over the ropes onto Tanaka outside of the ring. 

The screen then cuts to this.

 Then we’re back to the match. OK then. 

Tanaka hits Calo with a powerbomb, which leads to Tony talking about him being “so schooled in the martial arts”. Yes, because we all know that classic martial arts move the powerbomb. Often followed by a leg drop and a scorpion deathlock. 

The ending to this match is beyond ridiculous. 

First, Tanaka puts Calo onto the top turnbuckle.

Neither man seems to know what is meant to happen next, so they awkwardly wrap their arms around each other.

Tanaka then lifts Calo up like he’s going for an inverse piledriver and falls backwards.

Apparently he knocks himself out, gets pinned, and loses.

What an idiot.

Super Calo defeats Pat Tanaka via Pinfall.

Nothing too super about our friend Calo in this one I’m afraid. His victory came largely because Tanaka is a super dunce.

We got some lads in the front row who are big fans of the classic moustache.

They seem quite pleased that Calo emerged victorious.

Just under seven minutes in and we throw back to Mean Gene in the locker room with Rick Steiner. This should be good.

Shirts hanging out of the lockers behind them, as you do. 

Gene asks Rick Steiner about Nick Patrick’s questionable officiating - referring to the incident last week where Luger was disqualified in seconds for basically nothing. Rick says that he had Luger, and Gene saw it. Total bullshit as the match had barely started, and Gene does point that out. 

Luger walks into the frame as we see last week’s replay. Rick is continually going on about how he was going to win, sounding like a mentally challenged three year old. On the other hand this is a guy who also genuinely thinks he’s a dog, so... I should probably be impressed that he is able to form words and put them into a somewhat coherent structure.

Gene says that Steiner is “a little confused” in the understatement of the century, 

Luger tells Rick that he’s “a great tag team wrestler” but he feels like he has the edge in a singles environment. Rick continues to fail to understand basic english and keeps repeating “I can beat you, ask Sting” and then starts calling for Sting.

Gene then ushers Rick away like an unruly child as Luger walks off as well. Gene says that Luger was alluding that Rick “doesn’t have it upstairs”, pointing to his head. Wow, what a dick. Luger didn’t say anything like that. All he implied was that he was a better singles wrestler than Rick. Not sure where Gene has gotten his interpretation from, but my guess is he just wants to stir the pot as usual.

Next it’s nWo announcement time.

Just the usual t-shirt ad with Nash saying “all proceeds go towards the Ric Flair retirement fund”. Joke’s on him, that fund must have accrued some serious cash before it was finally paid out.

We’re back and...

Somebody buy these poor kids some real nWo t-shirts. 

Where did these people come from? Did they decide to stop by Nitro after a corporate dinner or something? 

Are these pilots in the audience as well? Wtf? Why are all these people coming to the show dressed in their work clothes? Is this a common thing in the States?

Oh, hey, guess what - Glacier debuted. I would say “remember all that hype” but if you’ve been reading this sad collection of nostalgic drivel then you will indeed remember the many Glacier adverts that have been on every Nitro broadcast since May or so. We’re now in September and Glacier finally had his first match... on WCW Pro.

Seriously.

WCW Pro is like... Sunday Night Heat or Velocity in WWE terms. It’s below WCW Saturday Night for fuck’s sake.  Tony calls it “one of the most eagerly anticipated debuts ever” - which is why he made his first appearance on WCW FUCKING PRO. Oh WCW, what are you like?

Larry says Glacier will be “a force to be reckoned with”, which, spoiler alert. turns out to be the opposite.

  Oh good, these two walking charisma vacuums.

And these two lumbering idiots. WCW, the best wrestling on the planet. How could WWF in 1996 find no way to entice people away from Pat Tanaka vs Super Calo and The AFC vs the Nasty Boys? Seriously. It isn’t that difficult. 

The AFC do their usual schtick of singing the Canadian national anthem badly and the crowd get angry because ‘Murica fuck yeah and whatever. The Nasty Boys say “fuck this” and attack the AFC after about 10 seconds of this bullshit, getting the match started.

The Amazing French Canadians Vs The Nasty Boys

You don’t care about this match. I don’t care about this match. Let’s just skip to the end.

Knobbs whacks the eyepatch guy with the flag the AFC brought out. Saggs pins for the win. 

The Nasty Boys defeat The Amazing French Canadians via Pinfall.

Mean Gene comes scurrying out to interview the Nastys, for some reason.

Saggs says everybody has been pointing the finger at the Nasty Boys, accusing them of being with the nWo (can’t imagine anybody really cares but OK, sure). Saggs says the Nasty’s are only worried about the tag titles which are in WCW, ergo they aren’t interested in joining the nWo. Does he not realise that faction affiliation is irrelevent as far as challenging for belts is concerned? I mean, Hogan is literally WCW Heavyweight champion at this point in time. 

Knobbs says that the Nasty’s don’t care about the nWo, they’re in WCW and they’re coming for Harlem Heat to take the tag team titles. Short and to the point, which is fine by me, even if the Nasty’s appear to be under the mistaken impression- that joining the nWo would invalidate them from challenging for the tag titles. 

We’re back from a commercial break to find Scott Norton and Sgt Craig Pittman in the ring.

Sgt Craig Pittman Vs Scott Norton

The commentators bill this as a “hold versus hold” match and I’m not sure what this means, as I was under the impression every match is hold versus hold. But whatever. 

After some back and forth Pittman decides that it’s time to ram his head into Norton’s sternum. 

It looks pretty painful and not especially effective, but Pittman enjoys it so much he does it again. 

They head to the outside of the ring. Norton gets whipped against the guardrail, the entirety of which moves upon impact, but then Norton regains control by slamming Pittman’s shoulder into the ring post. 

Norton locks in the armbar but the Sarge will not give up. Long gets onto the ring apron to beg Pittman to give in, but he won’t. WCW, for reasons beyond my understanding, is very careful about protecting Sgt. Craig Pittman. He never gets pushed, as far as I remember, but this man WILL NOT QUIT.

Then... 

Ice Train wanders out wearing this abomination. Seriously - what the fuck? It’s like a demin vest with a backpack built in. It’s something you would expect to see an eight-year old girl in the mid-90s wearing over the top of a t-shirt or something. What clothing brand figured that this design was suitable for huge, beefy dudes? I don’t know, but they clearly have a customer in Ice Train.

Train throws in the towel for Pittman.  

Scott Norton defeats Sgt. Craig Pittman via Forfeit. 

He enters the ring and stares down at Norton, who is looking at Train’s vest top and moobs like “dafuq?”

The two former amigos have a staredown which doesn’t lead anywhere. 

Pepboys Power Pin of the Week is a submission. Go figure.

We head to the locker room where Gene-o is with Ric Flair, Arn Anderson and Lex Luger.

Three of these men are dressed appropriately. The other is Lex Luger.

Apparently Sting is supposed to be a part of this interview as well but is nowhere to be found. Luger assures Flair & Arn that Sting is in the building, but the Horsemen are having none of it and are concerned that Sting doesn’t have his head in the game. Flair starts going crazy and practically flings himself into an alternate dimension with his erratic movements.

Like a jet propeller is being put directly in front of his face.

Anyway eventually these two sad sacks come lumbering in...

Mongo looks like he’s about to explode, whilst Benoit as usual appears barely awake. Mongo yells about not being able to count on Luger and Sting. Luger reiterates that Sting is in the building somewhere, he’s just not around for the interview. The Horsemen do seem overly paranoid here - how hard would it be to track Sting down and talk to him if they are this pissed off? 

Arn says he’s called ahead to Winston, Salem (where Fall Brawl/War Games is being held) to pre-book himself a hospital room as he assumes he’s going to need one. Seems like a somewhat pessimistic thing to do, but is it even possible to pre-book hospital room? Arn is talking like he’s booked a hotel room for the night. Strange lad. He also suggests Hogan uses battery acid to burn out his eyes which... I mean, don’t give the guy ideas, Arn.  

Interview ends with everybody talking over each other and Flair wooing a lot - so, the same as most Horsemen interviews.

People in the crowd are holding these signs which say “nWo - you haven’t seen bad... but it’s coming!” - indeed, Hogan Vs Piper is coming.

We get a recap of this thrilling DDP/Eddie/Chavo storyline which nobody cares about, but why this is recapped is beyond me as the next match has nothing to do with any of those three. 

Instead, out comes “the desparado” himself, Joe Gomez.

Somebody throws a wad of paper at him as he enters. Obviously not a fan.

His opponent is Juventud Guerrera,  who Tony repeatedly refers to as Juventud Guerrero. 

As Juvi enters he runs past these ladies, who appear both baffled and unimpressed with him.

Cold.

Joe Gomez Vs Juventud Guerrera

The match starts off okay, but descends into disaster fairly quickly as Juvi starts trying various lucha things which poor Joe is clearly not comfortable with. First Juvi stands on the apron, jumps onto the ropes as Gomez slowly walks towards him and does this...

It’s clear from this angle alone that there is no way in hell Juvi is going to reach Gomez. In fairness to WCW they switch camera angle just in time to make it look slightly less terrible, although I imagine it was more down to luck than skill. Nonetheless Gomez at least tries to sell the move, falling backwards theatrically.

Weeee! Points for effort if not execution. 

This happens next, and thanks to Uproxx “Best and Worst of WCW Monday Nitro” series (check it out, it’s great) I have a GIF to put into pictures what I would struggle to put into words.

Speaks for itself.

After this Juvi seems to want to go for a hurricanrana from the top turnbuckle but I‘m not sure if they botch this as well or it was the plan, but Juvi ends up backflipping away from the turnbuckle and then catching Gomez with a weak looking dropkick as he jumps towards Juvi.

Juvi just about manages to hit the finishing move...

But even that looks a little bit dodgy. At least Joe just had to lay there for this one. Ref counts to three and mercifully this one is over. Not sure if Gomez or Juvi are to blame for this shitshow, but either way I advise never putting them together again.

Juventud Guerrera defeats Joe Gomez via Pinfall.

For some reason Mean Gene is on the ramp to interview Nick Patrick. Oh good, more of this storyline.

Before they start the interview though, as Juventud walks past Gene and Patrick, Gene says “very good match there on the part of Juventud Guerrera”, then gives Juvi a disdainful look and mutters “guy just kind of... wanders around here”. LOL. Why is Gene throwing shade at poor Juvi? “Guy just wanders around here”, like he’s a lost child or something. I guess Gene is still salty about the interview with Juvi that went wrong a couple of weeks ago, but come on, that was hardly Juvi’s fault. Obvious Gene is still holding a grudge though. 

I don’t think anybody really wants to hear from these two ballbags but here we are anyway. 

Gene is accusing Patrick of making too many controversial calls for it to just be coincidence, whilst Patrick is accusing Gene of being a shit-stirring cock cheese who needs to get a life. Neither are lying but nobody really cares either. What is funny is that Okerlund is very haughty and dismissive of Patrick - until Patrick threatens to take Gene to court - at which point Gene stutters “well I-I hope that doesn’t happen” before saying “thank you very much Nick Patrick, sir, thank you” to Patrick as he walks off. Pathetic. 

Meanwhile Hogan, Hall, Nash and the Giant are outside in the pouring rain putting those nWo flyers with the “you haven’t seen bad... but it’s coming” slogan on random cars. This seems like a total waste of time as by the time the car owners get back to their vehicles the rain would probably have destroyed those flyers anyway.  Do these guys really have nothing better to do? Tony tells us the nWo are “literally” in the parking lot - as opposed to what, being there in spirit?

Ted DiBiase is the smartest of the lot as he 1) has an umbrella and 2) isn’t wasting his time putting up useless flyers in the pouring rain. He’s talking to somebody in the car, and the announcers are shitting themselves as to who it might be, as they tend to do. For all they know DiBiase might just be talking to the driver. 

“HERE’S A STORY OF TWO BROTHERS, RICK AND SCOTT!”

Just Rick tonight. He comes out doing that sad half-bark he does whenever something is troubling him. 

His opponent, of course, is Flexy Lexy.

Rick Steiner Vs Lex Luger

These two are not exactly known as ‘ring generals’ so I am not expecting a classic here. Let’s see, though. Perhaps we will all be pleasantly surprised. 

After various arm drags, headlocks, shoulder blocks, and so on, this happens.

Uh...

Yeah. Rick is basically molesting Luger in the ring and keeps this up for a disturbing amount of time. I guess it’s meant to show his amateur wrestling background but it basically just looks like sexual assault. Rick’s hands are going to places they really should not. 

Hour two begins with the usual fireworks. Bischoff, Heenan and Tenay come in on commentary for the rest of the show. 

Rick hits Luger with a nice powerslam, and Randy Anderson cannot bear to watch the impact. The crowd bark their approval which, personally, I don’t think is helpful. Rick’s clinical lycanthropy is only going to get worse if people bark at him when he does something good. Or bark at him in general, really.

More cuddling. Back away, Rick. Even Randy Anderson is telling him to cut it out at this point.

Luger takes control with a powerslam and signals for the rack. However, before he can attempt his finishing move...

This dicksplash comes running out waving his arms around. Looks like he’s doing the sieg heil there but fairly sure it’s just the timing of the screenshot.

Anyhow, Patrick tells Luger to follow him out the back, yelling something about the nWo beating up Sting.

Considering Patrick’s recent behaviour, Lex, it might not be wise to...

OK. Never mind. Of course Luger goes running after Patrick, abandoning the match entirely and getting himself counted out. 

Everyone looking towards the entrance way like “where’s he going?” 

Rick Steiner defeats Lex Luger via Countout.

We get a shot of DiBiase talking to the mystery man in the limo. Sting’s voice is heard but it is blatantly piped in from some other promo. He says he’s “tired of the DTA stuff, don’t trust anybody”, so I guess he’s not a fan of Stone Cold Steve Austin. DiBiase pretends to talk to the pre-taped Sting voice until Lex shows up.

A guy who is clearly not Sting gets out of the limo and starts beating up Luger whilst Bischoff screams “NO! NO!”

I have the advantage of hindsight and my monitor is probably bigger than most people’s TVs back in 1996... but still, it’s really obviously not Sting. Were people genuinely fooled by this? 

The nWo along with “Sting” beat Luger down and leave him laying in a broken heap in the rain...

It has not been a good night for Luger. First he got yelled at by the Horsemen, then he spent ten minutes getting inappropriately touched by Rick Steiner during their match, then he gets smacked around by the nWo and left on the ground in the pouring rain. Bad times for sure. Although if you’re stupid enough to follow Nick Patrick anywhere... 

Luger does manage to get back up but ends up just kind of wandering around in the rain looking confused whilst the nWo flee, leaving the limos parked outside the building.

These bois are not impressed by what they have just seen. Tenay looks like a dad who is about to grab his belt and put a whippin’ on somebody. Bischoff is indignant. Heenan wears the expression of a man who was just forced to sit through every Raw from 2015. Pure torture. 

Bischoff says he has an update which is literally “we don’t know where [the nWo] are. I’m sorry. I don’t know”. Well thanks for that. Very helpful. 

We get a long recap of last week’s angle including more footage of the amazing all-out brawl that ended the show. Then we get another nWo advert for their t-shirt. 

A bunch of random jobbers are outside with Luger and Rick Steiner milling around the limo yelling out “DIBIASE!” - as if he’ll just pop up and be like “sup bois?” - pointless endeavour. Rick Steiner is the only one smart enough to bring an umbrella outside. Let that one sink in. Luger chucks a bunch of stuff out of one of the limos onto the floor which seems unnecessary. 

Out comes pre-Flock Billy Kidman. The commentators could not care less, just droning on about Sting’s supposed “defection”. 

The other combatant in this contest is Cruiserweight champion Rey Mysterio Jr.

Rey Mysterio Jr Vs Billy Kidman

The announcers spend the entire match in ‘sad voice’, like their dogs have all collectively died. It’s really annoying.

The match spills to the outside very quickly. Rey gets the advantage and rolls Kidman back in. He attempts to jump off the ropes from the apron, but Kidman knows what’s coming and meets Rey with a dropkick to the chest.

Kidman slams Rey in the centre of the ring, runs over to the turnbuckle and leaps off.

Just a two count though. Rey wins the match soon after this by flipping off the ropes onto Kidman.

It looks weak but whatever. This wasn’t anything special.

Rey Mysterio defeats Billy Kidman via Pinfall.

We come back from a commercial and the Dungeon’s of Doom’s “music” is playing, and I put that in inverted commas because it isn’t really music, just a pseudo-creepy OTT villainous laugh accompanied by some kind of chant. Whatever. Normally any sign of the Dungeon is enough to make me want to hang my head in despair, however!

If Meng is involved, it might be somewhat entertaining. Just to note those aren’t two random arms sprouting out of Meng’s shoulders – the Barbarian is behind him.

The announcers are still going on about how tragic Sting’s supposed betrayal is – and Bischoff apologises for “not giving Rey Mysterio the attention he deserves in his match”. I mean, kind of tough to take that apology seriously considering how often this has happened and will continue to happen until Nitro goes out of existence. It is the only time I can recall any commentator in WCW actually apologising for the routine ignoring of the cruiserweights in favour of talking about/complaining about the nWo, though.

These two are the opponents. Yeah, Public Enemy, they definitely deserve that pyro. Sure. Look at them waving their hands in the air like they just don’t care.

By the way, the commentators are still going on about Sting. I wonder if we’ll get another apology for ignoring this match as well? Not that I’d necessarily blame them here.

Some diehard wrestling fans here. I think we saw them previously – seemingly someone in production has taken a liking to these ladies. They look like they got lost on their way to a PTA meeting, but fuck it, might as well enjoy themselves now. Watch out for the dude behind you though, ladies. That smile worries me a little.

The Faces of Fear Vs Public Enemy

We go to a commercial break, and as soon as we come back Bischoff says “I hate to keep repeating this, but apparently Sting has joined forces with the nWo”. Bullshit, if you hated it that much you’d have shut up about it by now. I mean, jeez, we get it.

This contest is just a brawl, as you’d expect. Not exactly a match for the ages, but all of a sudden, randomly…

This dude on the left appears and begins running/skipping around the ring.

The fuck? It’s like Rockstar Spud’s demented uncle or something. 

He briefly chases Jimmy Hart, then just… vanishes? Oh, and by the way, the commentators make no mention of this. They do not acknowledge this at all. Why? Because they’re talking about everything except the match itself. Literally, I’m not kidding, it’s like this match is not happening. It’s like listening to a radio show or a podcast spliced together with unrelated WCW footage.

Wait, what? What’s happening now? The match is ongoing and they just cut to the back. Judging from the faces of these lads you’d think someone died. It’s a sombre scene to say the least – but seriously, why even have the match in the ring? What’s the point? The commentators are acting like it isn’t happening and we cut to an interview as the match is happening. Bischoff doesn’t even note that we’ve cut away from a match in progress, he just says “take it away Gene”, like this is totally normal. Whatever, I guess. It’s not like I’m desperate to see the Faces of Fear versus Public Enemy, but what a bizarre way to structure… everything.

Gene asks Arn to explain what happened in the parking lot earlier. Seemed quite self-explanatory to me and the commentators have not stopped talking about it since it happened, so the viewers really don’t need any extra information.  

Arn says he doesn’t give a shit about Luger losing a friend, or that he’s lost a team mate, he’s just shocked. He brings up Sting’s loyalty to WCW.

They actually move to a split-screen here – I guess someone in the production truck remembered there is actually a match going on. It wouldn’t be fair to deprive the dozens of Faces of Fear/Public Enemy fans the chance to see their favourite grapplers go at it.

Anyway, Arn says he has a sick feeling in his stomach, he’s shocked, and he’s out of words. He’s said quite a few already, though, so not really.

Flair stands there with his arms folded, eyeing the audience like a disappointed father.

Luger says he doesn’t have any answers, and that his “best friend in the whole world” stabbed him in the back. He then says he knows where Sting lives and where he works out, and he’s going to go and find him “right now”. Sounds like Lex is planning to murk Sting. However, he should keep in mind this is a guy who only last week tried to murder somebody by chucking a rock through the window of a limo, then stole a police car. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why Sting isn’t in jail. Regardless, I wouldn’t be chasing after him without a good plan.

Flair screams that he’s “sick of it” and just generally yells about how they’re going to beat up the nWo at War Games (including Sting). Arn says “it’s a fight to the death – yours, not ours”. I suppose that was worth emphasising? Also Arn has a tendency to see these matches as ending in death, even though it never comes close to that.

We return to the Faces of Fear/Public Enemy match. By “we” I mean the audience – the commentators are still talking about War Games. I genuinely don’t think they have said anything about the match – oh, wait a minute, Bischoff does mention the match, finally. Although he says the teams are “literally fighting for their lives” which is not exactly accurate. What is up with these people thinking matches are going to end so tragically?

Anyway, the brawling continues for a while and eventually, somehow, Rocco Rock ends up lying on a table. Barbarian heads for the top turnbuckle.

Guys, I don’t foresee this ending well. Seriously, what is the absolute best result of this? Rocco (who can clearly see Barbarian on the turnbuckle) for some reason lays there and lets Barbarian jump on him. It’ll be brutal for both. Or, Rocco moves and Barbarian crashes through the table. Either way Barbarian doesn’t win in this scenario.

Uh oh. Jimmy Hart is absolutely useless at holding Rocco down, kicked away like an insect as Rocco sits up.

That is a fucking sick bump. It’s funny because Barbarian barely takes any serious bumps at all, on Nitro at least, then he decides to say fuck it and leaps to the concrete through a table because YOLO I guess?

Well anyway he dead. Rocco brings a second table into the ring.

Looks pretty old. Nick Patrick wags his finger in disapproval, but incredibly that isn’t enough to persuade Public Enemy to stop. They lay Meng on the table, then Rocco goes to the top turnbuckle for a moonsault…

He almost misses the table entirely, only catching Meng with his legs. The table is weak enough that it breaks despite the soft contact.

You’d think that would be the spot that ends the match, but no. Meng gets up like nothing happened and starts brawling with Rocco again. Barbarian is also somehow revived and back in the ring fighting with Grunge. This is weird because the outside table spot with Barbarian getting wiped out, and then Meng getting put through the table by Rocco’s moonsault, felt like the end sequence of the match. Now it’s like we’re back at the start again. Keep in mind the match has been going for about 10 minutes now. That’s at least 7 minutes longer than is ideal for these teams, really.

Whilst Rocco and Barbarian are hugging it out in the corner, Meng puts the Tongan Death Grip on Grunge and now this one is over.

No explanation as to what the fuck was going on with that random ginger guy running around the ring earlier by the way. Oh well. During the replay Heenan accidentally calls Meng “Haku” and then goes silent immediately. Oops.

The Faces of Fear defeat Public Enemy via Pinfall.

Suddenly Okerlund appears at ringside, accompanied by the Dungeon of Doom.

Maxx, Jimmy Hart, Big Bubba, Gene, Kevin Sullivan, Hugh Morrus and Konnan. To quote Rufus from Final Fantasy 7 – “what a crew”.

Sullivan is no longer painting his face with those stupid markings, but for some reason is now wearing a white headband. Does he think he’s the Karate Kid now?

He also starts making this derp face - and this isn’t just a screen grab catching an awkward expression momentarily, he’s making this face on purpose.

For some reason we go to Jimmy Hart first, who tells the Giant “it’s the beginning of the end for you, you just don’t know it yet”. I’m sure he’s quaking in his boots.  

Big Bubba then rants about Glacier, talking about him saying he’s coming for “6 or 7 months” and asking if he’s not debuting because he’s afraid. Slight exaggeration on the 6 or 7 months from Bubba, but to be fair it does feel like those vignettes have been running for at least that long. Bubba actually doesn’t seem to be aware that Glacier debuted on WCW Pro, but it’s WCW Pro, so... understandable. Bubba calls the Dungeon of Doom “the masters of intimidation”…

What he means is that Meng is the master of intimidation. The others aren’t exactly adding much to the equation. Maxx is standing off to the side looking distinctly unimpressed by the entire thing.

With that said, bored does seem to be his default expression regardless of what is happening. I imagine he’d have the same expression even if Bubba was in the process of sprouting three heads whilst doing a kossack dance.

After calling Gene “homes”, Konnan calls Sullivan a “hardened veterano”. He then says Sullivan has seen and led gang wars from coast to coast.

Yes, Kevin Sullivan wearing that silly white headband is exactly what I think of when I think of leaders of gang wars. Sullivan’s ‘wut?’ expression here says it all. I’m not sure you can call the Dungeon of Doom/Alliance to End Hulkamania Versus Hogan and Macho Man a “gang war”. I’m not sure two people can even constitute a gang. Also Sullivan may be worried Konnan is unintentionally (?) implicating him in genuine gang wars… which probably isn’t in the Taskmaster’s best interests.

Konnan challenges the nWo to come out and confront the Dungeon, who he calls “the toughest set”. Yeah, sure. The challenge is not accepted, because the nWo are for sure terrified of a “gang” featuring the likes of Maxx, Kevin Sullivan, Big Bubba and Hugh Morrus.

Sullivan says that Savage thinks he’ll owe the Dungeon “a debt” for carrying him out from the ring last week. I doubt it in all honesty – maybe if they’d actually done something to help him before he’d been beaten down and spraypainted. Carrying him out after the fact didn’t really help much.

Anyhow, Sullivan says Savage can repay this fictional debt by first beating John Tenta, because why not I guess, and then by getting rid of the Giant. That doesn’t really seem like a balanced deal. We carry you backstage after you’ve been beaten up, you make it even by beating John Tenta and the Giant. Hmmm.

Time for some nWo propaganda.

Hogan tells us that they “aren’t here for a stinkin’ reason” – directly contradicting Nash and Hall, who had previously made it clear they’d come in specifically to take over WCW. He then randomly says “we’ve got our boss with us” and points to Ted DiBiase, who’s sitting in a chair behind them.

Homely. DiBiase looks like he’s being held prisoner, but whatever. Hogan says DiBiase makes Ted Turner look like a “pauper”. Honestly I could try to recap this whole thing but it’s really just a bunch of random sound bytes ripping on WCW for the most part. They talk about wanting “their own tag team tournament” for some reason. They also want a segment (on Nitro, presumably) where they can “highlight” their talent. What they actually mean is a segment highlighting Hogan, as we’ll discover going forward. Scott Hall says “nWo 4 life” with the hand sign (might be the first instance of this?) and they all end the segment laughing like it was an amazing joke.

I was a satellite dish owner back then – or rather, my parents were - but no WCW PPVs in the UK, sadly. We only got a butchered hour-long version of Nitro on TNT UK during 1996 & 1997. I didn’t find out that I’d been watching an edited version of the show until many years later. At least now I can sit back and relive the glory of the Faces of Fear Vs Public…. eh, maybe TNT UK were doing us a favour after all.

Back with your bois at the announce desk. Tenay once again has that “stern dad” look, whilst Heenan seems to be whimsically remembering something from years gone by. Take a guess as to what Bischoff is talking about?

A)     The upcoming main event

B)     Meltzer being wrong about everything

C)     Blue Chew

D)     Sting’s betrayal

If you’ve been following along thus far, you’ll know the answer. The lad does genuinely hate big Dave though, and loves that Blue Chew. Come to think of it, what is the main event? I can’t even remember. Sting’s supposed betrayal has been hammered into my brain so many fucking times at this point I can barely conceive of any other event occurring at any wrestling show.

Chris Jericho’s music plays, but…

It’s John Tenta? Still got that stupid haircut by the way. Seriously, fish man, you’ve made your point. Get that shaved.

But yeah, I’m confused here. I thought Jericho was coming out. But hold on, that’s Jericho’s second theme, “One Crazed Anarchist”, aka the Pearl Jam ripoff, not the one he’s using at this point in WCW, which I believe is the Journey ripoff. So John Tenta is in fact the OG “One Crazed Anarchist”. For the record, the theme suits Jericho far more than it suits the former Shark.

As he comes out Tenta says “Savage, you’re not putting me down”. You think so, John?

What exactly has that guy in the hat been up to? That is not the look of an innocent person.

Ohhh yeahhh, it’s the Macho Man. The commentators are pretending that the result of the match is in any doubt, which I suppose they have to do.

John “anti-fish” Tenta Vs “Macho Man” Randy Savage

Savage storms to the ring, but that turns out to be a bad idea as Tenta stomps on the Macho Man’s back as he slides in and then clobbers him with a forearm to the back.

Bad strategy, Macho. Tenta’s moobs though… whoa.

That’s an interesting choice of attire for a wrestling event, madam.

Tenta works over Savage in the corner for a bit. Savage then begins to make a comeback, before for some reason attempting to slam Tenta…

Goes about as well as you’d expect. Macho really needs to work on his strategy.

Bischoff actually specifically says here that Heenan accidentally referred to Meng as “Haku” earlier and wants to make it clear Meng now works for WCW and not the WWF. I guess they were really taking this kind of thing seriously due to the lawsuits flying around at this point in history. Funny though, as you hear these kinds of slip-ups all the time. I mean, if TNA or AEW were sued for every time a commentator accidentally used a competitor’s ex-WWE name there would need to be a legal department created specifically just to deal with the fucking volume. At least Heenan didn’t call it “WWF Nitro”.

Tenta hits Macho with a decent looking drop kick – quite impressive considering his weight. Outside of the ring Savage hits Tenta with a steel chair…

He isn’t disqualified because…? He whacks Tenta twice more with a chair. This is not a no-DQ match, but it is WCW, so fuck the rules unless we need them for storyline purposes, right?

Flying elbow drop!

Macho goes up for a second, but then Teddy Long comes to ringside yelling “Macho!” – what could the so-called “godfather” want with Savage? Also where’s my man Ice Train at? Come to think of it, I just remembered what he was wearing earlier… best for him to stay backstage.

Savage still hits the second elbow drop. Long is gesticulating wildly at Savage and yelling something about the nWo. Savage leaps over the top rope with nice agility.

But before we go any further…

Son, I am disappoint. I can’t even say “A for effort” because that is the lowest tier of effort.

Anyway, Savage follows Teddy to the outside of the arena where Teddy announces “YOU GONNA GO ONE-ON-ONE WITH THE UNDERTAKER PLAYA!”

Actually, they run towards a limo.              

The limo drives off as soon as Savage approaches it. What was the point of that?

Flair and Mongo randomly appear as the limo drives away.

There’s another limo there, but only a box of spraypaint inside it. There are a ton of WCW guys out there now – the Horsemen, the Dungeon, Public Enemy, Juvi, Super Calo, Savage… basically everyone who was on TV tonight. They start spraypainting “WCW” on the limo windows… or rather, they try to. Due to the fact it’s been raining and everywhere is wet it ends up just looking like a green smudge. As an aside, if that is in fact not an nWo limo, somebody is going to be in for a surprise.  

For some reason the commentators are all standing up. Tenay is looking more evil every time he’s on camera. It’s like he wants to reach through the camera and strangle each and every viewer.

Seriously though, he is repeatedly making a “pissed-off dad” face.

“Dad, I borrowed your car…”

“Um… and… I got a speeding ticket…”

“And there’s a dent on the front as I kinda sorta knocked over the mailbox…”

Grounded forever.

Anyway, once they all sit back down Heenan goes on a rant about the nWo which concludes with “if we don’t stop them now then they can’t be stopped”. If only you could glimpse into the future and nWo 2000, Bobby.

Oh, by the way, I guess John Tenta won the match against Savage by count out? It wasn’t announced or shown, but Savage jumped out of the ring and never returned, so…

John Tenta defeats “Macho Man” Randy Savage via Countout.

I guess Tenta was right, Savage didn’t put him down after all. Score one for the fish hating weirdo.

Double A suddenly appears on set. Heenan gives Arn his headset. Can’t help but think it’d be better for Anderson to be in the ring with a mic, as the fans in the arena can’t hear any of this… but whatever.

Arn says that the world is “in shock” and “outraged”. The world is probably a bit of a stretch, but OK. Flair turns up as Arn is talking, as do Benoit and Mongo. Arn says that this all began ten years ago with the original Horsemen, and that they paved the way and showed the nWo how to do it. Technically true. Arn says the nWo want to be the Horsemen “when they grow up”.

Tenay continuing to give that evil stare, even at Arn. Bischoff looks kind of sad.

As an aside, I may have mentioned it before, but I really like this shirt design:

Bischoff begins talking about making mistakes, but Flair interrupts him. Flair screams so loudly that the headset seems to take some damage as the volume decreases slightly. Flair explains War Games – although if you don’t know what it is by this point then what have you been doing with your life? – and says Hogan won’t leave War Games alive. Spoiler alert: he does.

Bischoff then talks about how maybe bringing Hogan in to WCW was “a mistake” and that the Horsemen “haven’t been given their just due”. The same exact sentence could have been said in 2000 and been even more relevant.

WCW then ends the show with a replay of Luger getting beaten up by “Sting” and the nWo. I’m sure he appreciates that. A good thing they reminded us, as I think a whole ten seconds passed at the end there without mention of Sting’s betrayal and my memory had started to go hazy.

#wcw #wcwnitro #nwo #nwo4life #Sting #luger #flair #horsemen #outsiders #wtfwcw #lolwcw #stinger #mondaynightwars #moobs

[innittowinit]

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (chapt. 2)

relationships: sbi + dt (all platonic they are kids)

Fic summary: 

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary: 

Without Tommy and Phil around, Techno and Wil hang out in the park alone until they see some unwelcome visitors.

or

Wilbur tries to be nice and intimidating at the same time

Chapter word count: 2291

Ao3

L’manburg had never become a national theme park but it was big; if you asked anyone from any other town they would have never heard of it, but here it was like an urban legend, an eerie reminder of how things can go from bustling to dead in the blink of an eye. 

But even in a battlefield, poppy’s still bloom and even in a place like this, memories were still made. 

As Wilbur strummed out random chords, trying to figure out the perfect sequence for the song he was working on, Techno sat next to him, cross-legged. With his long, pink hair draped over one shoulder in a loose braid, The teen scrawled into a notebook some English homework. Overall, the two were at peace, this was their routine and even with Tommy off playing at Tubbo’s house and Phil at work, they still enjoyed the time they could spend together. 

Eventually, Wil had started singing Techno’s essay as if it were the lyrics to the song he had been working on, earning himself a snigger and a playful shove from his twin. 

“Don’t you have any homework, music boy?” 

Pulling his braid up, twisting it into a bun and tying it off with a hair band, Techno glanced over at his brother. In all honesty, his hair really annoyed him, he was naturally very anxious and he didn’t like bringing attention to himself so long, pink hair didn’t seem like a very good choice. 

If he had any control over it, he’d be identical to Wilbur and he’d look so normal that everyone would leave him alone; the pink hair was always an anomaly, not even doctors could figure it out, the rapid speed at which it grew was strange too but he had learnt to live with it. 

Wil had a friend called Niki, she helped him with his hair when he was getting overwhelmed with it. 

“I do but then you wouldn’t get to hear me sing would you?” 

Wil laughed, leaning back against the old pool wall as he reached for his school bag, only to notice that Techno already had a hold of it and was looking through his planner to see what homework he needed to catch up on. 

They really thought alike didn’t they? 

Wilbur smiled to himself as he looked up to Techno, waiting for him to lecture him on everything he needed to do. 

“You’ve got a math’s paper due tomorrow, Phil’s better at that stuff than I am so if you need help you’ll have better luck with him than me”

Techno copied Wil, laying down next to him even though the pool hadn’t been cleaned in years. No doubt their uniform would need washing. 

“You’re both better than I am, Tech’ I really think at some point you should start going to your own classes” he sucked in a breath, lips pierced together “You’re smarter than I am and I don’t want to hold you back just because we want to stay together. I know you do all the work for your lessons and I think it’s really cool that you’re able to keep on top of things like that but eventually you should probably try to go to a class alone.”

Techno scowled and Wilbur knew he needed to elaborate if he didn’t want to hurt his brother. 

“Tech’ you’re really cool and funny but you’re also so smart and I know you’ll get great grades in your exams if you keep at it but sometimes it seems like you’d be happier with your own group of friends. I’d miss you so much if we stopped staying together but I think it would be good for both of us if we learnt how to talk to people aside from each other”

“I can’t Wil. I know what you mean, we can’t stay in this bubble forever, but I dont think i’m ready yet”

“Yeah I know… and that’s fine, we don’t need to rush it, I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll put up with me” 

And the tension melted away as the two laughed, it was almost ironic how they were so good at communicating their feelings with each other and so bad with it to anyone else (aside from their brother’s of course.) Wil had Techno’s hand clutched in his own again, he really loved his brothers and loved giving them hugs and cuddles, he understood that Techno didn’t like that kind of affection though so he stuck to just holding his hand whenever he felt big emotions.

The peaceful nature of their afternoon hadn’t lasted long though, a loud crash was heard somewhere nearby. Undoubtedly it would be the Dream Team, Wil didn’t understand why they couldn’t just leave, if he had accidentally intruded on someone else's spot, he would have left! 

“Do you wanna go find them?” Wil stood up, still holding onto Techno’s hand. It was comforting but it was also just nice to know he was there and present.

The pink haired boy nodded, pulling his bun back down into the long braid again since, even though it was less practical, it looked a lot better.  

The old pool was hard to climb out of, it always had been, but for Techno and Wilbur it was the best place in the whole park. If Tommy was being too hyper or Wil wanted some more privacy to play a song that might have been more personal, they always came down to the old log floom and sat in the pool.  

It was deep though, it had been made with the intention of the boats riding over the water, they had never made any steps to get out since people weren't supposed to be inside of it but that wasn’t to say it was impossible to get out, you just needed to know how.  

Sliding his guitar onto his back and holding his backpack against his chest, Wil made his way to the old vines that seeped into the pool, they had never checked to make sure these vines were safe to touch but they had never gotten a rash from them so they supposed it was fine. 

After making sure Techno was right by him, the brunette used the vine to ‘abseil’ himself up the side of the pool, being only 13 they were both still pretty light but it was clear that in a few more years they wouldn’t be able to do that any more. 

Techno climbed up after him and that was that, he had his mouth clamped shut as he always had done when he didn’t know if he was alone or not, Wil didn’t mind though, he had grown up with his brother like this so he knew his mannerisms well enough to read his body language fairly accurately. 

“I’m pretty sure the noise came from this way, honestly they’re probably digging around looking for things to steal. I don’t trust them at all” Grumbling, Wil shoved one hand in his pocket and took hold of Techno’s with the other. 

Glancing towards his brother, he saw the same kind of expression as his own, he could tell that Techno was just as upset as he was about someone messing with their space. 

“I don’t like them” He spoke rather matter-of-factly, he had grown a habit of rambling since he liked to fill the silence when Techno couldn’t talk. 

“They’re so rude. They don’t understand anything. I still can't believe what they said about you and Tommy! If you ask me, they deserved that rock! If Phil wasn’t there I would’ve thrown a second one..and a third one, then they could all have matching scars! And that Dream kid always has a mask on, how are we to know he’s not some criminal! Stranger danger dude! If we haven’t seen his face we shouldn’t play with him”

Wil rambled on as they walked, unaware of how hypocritical he was being by criticizing them for being rude about Techno’s issues and then immediately talking about Dream’s. That was just a part of childhood though, you had to be a bit of an asshole sometimes to learn how to be a good person.  

After getting a sharp elbow to the rib from his twin, he realised that he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings at all because right in front of them were two of the three boys they had been expecting, sitting in the centre of a heap of old Theme park maps. They had never done any research about L’manburg but Wil guessed it was probably open during the 80’s due to the overall theme of it. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He tried to seem threatening, he hoped he had at least a little bit of a bad boy reputation after throwing that rock. He was still riding out the adrenaline high from that. 

That’s what he thought at least, until George turned around. From his ear to his mid cheek, there was a big, puffy, red scar and Wil couldn’t help but feel guilty. That looked like it had definitely needed stitches.

He never wanted to hurt anyone he just wanted to scare them and maybe graze them up a bit. 

“Listen.” Wil sighed, telling himself he was only doing this because Phil had told him to and definitely not because he felt like a horrible person right now. Who knows how long that scar would take to heal? Maybe he’d have it all his life. The thought of someone being scarred for life because of him made him feel a little sick. 

“I hate you guys. You and your stupid brother with his stupid mask. You’re all stupid and you dont understand anything. But I shouldn’t have hurt you” A bump to the shoulder and a squeeze to his hand was all the encouragement he needed to keep going, to know he was making the correct choice. 

“I feel really bad, that scar looks like it hurts, that being said though why are you here?”

The youngest brother glared at him, Wilbur glared back. He remembered Phil saying his name was Sapnap. That was a stupid name, he thought, but then again he had a brother called Techno so he was being hypocritical yet again. 

“We were gonna look around because we thought you weren’t here but we got lost” George had mumbled from where he sat. Now the maps made sense, they were trying to find their way out. They were far too water damaged to be used though, the ink was smudged beyond comprehension, he remembered looking through them himself, with Techno and Phil when they had first found this place. Considering the amount of water damage all over this park, Wil wouldn’t be surprised if it had closed due to a hurricane or something. 

“We were looking around but Dream called saying dinner was gonna be ready soon and that we had to come home but we don't know the way”

“We can show you the way” Wilbur wore a smug smile across his face, he didn’t even need to look at Techno to know he was thinking the same thing. 

“You need to swear never to come back though, you two or your stupid brother”

He could see Sapnap get angry over his brother being called stupid but he seemed to know when to pick his battles, considering he was currently the youngest in the group. 

“Fine.” George stood up, slinging a backpack over his shoulders 

“Why are you so protective of this place anyway? It’s not like it can get any worse, none of the rides even work anymore”

For a split second Wilbur considered telling the truth, opening up to them. Aside from Phil, he was for sure the most honest brother, he wore his emotions on his sleeve and it was usually Techno that convinced him to pull back if he knew his brother was about to hurt himself. 

After a quick glance to Techno, to make sure it was okay, he started talking. 

“I don’t have anywhere else to play my music, Tommy doesn’t have anywhere else he can run around, Phil just likes hanging out honestly, but there’s nowhere else Techno feels comfortable speaking. I’m not letting you take that from him, from us. He deserves to have a place he feels safe and we deserve to be able to talk to our brother” He didn’t bother mentioning that he found communicating with Techno like this still fairly easy, he wanted it to sting when he told the two why they needed the park. He wanted them to feel just as guilty as he had when he saw the scar. 

“Can’t he just.. I dunno.. Talk?” Sapnap giggled, earning a smack to the back of the head from none other than Techno. 

“It’s kinda like anxiety” Tommy hadn’t understood at first either, he thought maybe they just hadn’t experienced it before.

“He’s fine talking with our brother’s and myself but it’s really really hard for him to do it with other people. He’s not weak though so don’t underestimate him because of it” He gave them both a glare, still trying to appear threatening 

“So promise you wont come back. We took you to the exit, now go home and don’t come back” 

The duo both gave half hearted promises, In fairness they weren’t even trying to be cruel. They were just young and wanted to explore a cool area with people they thought could potentially be their friends. Still not really understanding why they needed the place so badly, they muttered to themselves the whole walk home about how they could ‘reclaim’ L’manburg.

#wilbur soot #technoblade #sapnap #georgenotfound #fanfic #sleepyblr #dtblr #sbi #dt

[t-lostinworlds]

You Did It (Shawn Mendes)

A/N: Wrote this on a whim again and it’s sorta different? I think lol. Suppose to be a blurb but is 1k words even considered as a blurb? haha. Anyhow, I think I shed a tear or two writing this but it’s not sad I promise asdfghjkl. It’s just a little something for Shawn’s first ever stadium show. And gosh, I’m so proud of that boy. Anyways! Hope you enjoy! x

Summary: Shawn’s had this weird and unexplainable experience when he was just a child, but years down the line, he was very grateful for said experience and to have met this mysterious man.

Warnings: Emotional stuff maybe and Typos

Word Count: 1.8k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

Shawn was lodging his guitar case down the busy street of Toronto with a wide smile on his face, his eyes scanning the beautiful but busy city underneath the summer sun. People were going out and about with their day, no one sparing the 12-year-old boy a glance as they hurry from one destination to another.

"Shawn, buddy, you wait here and don't wander okay? I'll be back as quick as I can." His father ruffled his hair, a bright smile written on the man's lips as he watched his son be so excited having bought his first guitar, never seeming to have the will to let go of the instrument despite the fact that it's almost the same size as the kid.

The young boy nodded, his dad helping him settle his guitar on a bench before disappearing to handle some adult business, Shawn swinging his short legs that couldn't touch the ground as he sat patiently and waited as he'd been told to do so.

He was humming a simple tune that he thought of on top of his head, eyes looking up the CN tower as it stood tall and mighty that it seemed to touch the blue sky in the perspective of a young boy's eyes.

And with a simple turn of his head, Shawn's vision was met by another magnificent looking building. One that looked like it stretched till forever down the street, not as tall the tower, no, but definitely bigger, or fatter, as Shawn thought.

ROGERS CENTRE

The big and beefy letters was staring right back at the boy, all red and bright at the very head of the stadium. Shawn's always wondered how big it was inside, and how cool it would be sit amongst thousands, or in his dreams, sing in front of those people.

"Hey there kid, this guitar yours?" A man sat down beside the boy, face unrecognizable as it was hidden under a baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He wore an all black outfit too, hands shoved in the pockets of his black coat, a very suspicious outfit but with a smile bright and welcoming that Shawn couldn't help but smile himself.

"Hello mister and yes, it's my first guitar ever." The boy chirped excitedly, face lighting up as he talked about the most precious item in his life as of now.

The man's smile only widened from there, nodding with a soft chuckle as he gave the kid a pat on the back. "That's amazing dude."

"Yeah! I can't wait to learn more and play it." The little one giggled, tearing his eyes away from the man to look back up at the big, fat building. The man followed Shawn's eyes with a soft sigh. "Have you seen what's the inside of that stadium?"

Shawn looked back at the man and shook his head no, a small frown on his face with a look of full curiosity, an innocent one that a child possess. "You want to see it from the inside?" The man asked softly, his smile never wavering as he looked at the boy adoringly.

Shawn contemplated on it for a moment, his parents' rule of never talking to strangers echoing inside his mind. But that's the thing, this man doesn't feel like a stranger to Shawn, if not, the boy feels like he knows who this guy is, despite not having seen him before.

"We'll be back here before you know it bud." The man reassured, standing up fully on his feet as he offered Shawn a hand. Shawn smiled, his trust for this man feeling so strong in his veins as he stood up on his own two feet, taking the man's hand as he held his guitar case on the other.

"Here, let me help you with that." The man chuckled, taking the guitar from his grasp at they walked towards the stadium.

***

"Whoa" Shawn gasped, his features coated with nothing but absolute wonder as he looked around the huge and spacious room. His eyes glanced up at the roof that seemed to go on forever, the endless numbers of seats from in front of him to high up above. Compared to the young kid, the stadiums size was overwhelming to say the least.

"Come here little guy." The man called out as he beckoned Shawn to the side of the stage, helping him carefully up the stairs.

"This place is so big!" The boy shouted in pure glee, followed by that sweet giggle as he heard his voice echo throughout the space. The man couldn't help but grin wide as he felt his heart grow ten times its normal size.

"I know. I'll never get used to seeing this view." He chuckled as he stood right beside Shawn, his expression barely readable having that his face was half covered but his smile just says it all how in awe he was, just like the kid beside him.

"How many times have you been here before?" Shawn asked as he looked up at the man warily. "A couple of times." The man shrugged with a fulfilled grin. "Now, put this on and stand right there in the middle." He handed Shawn his guitar, helping him slip the strap on and guiding him right in the middle of the stage.

"Now close your eyes kiddo." Shawn did as told as he clutched his guitar tight as much as he can in his hands, the man crouching down right beside him with a hand gently rested on his shoulder.

"Imagine this stadium full, all the lights, the beat of the drums and the bass shaking the stage beneath your feet. You're feeling the adrenaline rise through your body as scanned the huge crowd. Imagine all the people with bright smiles on their faces, all of them singing loud with excitement that they might blow the roof off." The man whispered softly, a sense of full on gratitude and pride in his voice that Shawn was feeling it course through his chest too.

"What are they so excited for?" Shawn asked, fingers absentmindedly strumming the guitar strings emitting a soft melody that softly echoed around the space, eyes still shut tight as he imagined what the man had said, a tingle in his stomach that Shawn couldn't help but grin.

"They're excited for you buddy. These fifty three thousand people are here for you, to cheer you on."

"Me?" The young kid's voice was full of question, not seeming to believe what the man had said. Why would that many people scream for him? Little Shawn from a small town called Pickering?

The man hummed, voice filled with a mixture of so many emotions as he said:

"You did it kid."

"Huh?" Shawn opened his eyes as he looked at the man beside him with furrowed brows. But he only grinned at him, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze before standing back to his full height.

"Come on. Let's get you back. Your dad might be looking for you." Shawn didn't question any further as his young brain tried to understand what the man could have meant.

There's no way that many people would be there for me. That's just impossible. Shawn thought to himself. But the more he tried his hardest to make it make sense, the more confused he was getting as he was just a young kid who know so little, so he decided to just forget about it.

With one last look at the view from the stage, Shawn smiled before turning back around, placing his guitar back on the case and following the man out.

***

"Dad's coming. Always remember kiddo, have the greatest time of your life."

The man gave Shawn a curt nod, hand grabbing his hat to tip it down with a wide smile, and that's when Shawn caught a glimpse of a bird tattoo on the man's hand.

A look of confusion coated the young boy's features but the man only smiled wide at that. And before Shawn could even ask about the tattoo, he heard the calling of his name.

"Shawn! Where have you been? I told you not to wander! Are you okay?" Manny's face was in full panic as he crouched down in front of the boy, cupping Shawn's face with both hands, turning it side to side to see if he was hurt.

"Dad I – I'm fine. Dad there's this man–" Shawn started, pointing back at where he last saw the man only to see no one. Manny followed Shawn's finger only to end up looking at nothing. "What man son?"

"He was–" Shawn blinked for a few times, brows furrowing as he scanned the crowd only to see no sign of the mysterious man. The boy's casted his eyes down at the guitar case he was clutching, staring at it for a few seconds before his gaze landed back up to stare at the stadium.

"Let's just go home bud. Your mum is worried sick."

Shawn nodded as he took his father's hand, walking down the street and taking one last look at the huge sign up above: Rogers Centre

***

Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON, Canada – September 6, 2019

Shawn stared at his swallow tattoo with a shaky breath.

His emotions were all over the place, the adrenaline in his veins growing tenfold as the lights flickered pink. He was all crouched down at the bottom of the stairs as the sub-bass thumped through his body.

His heart was racing against his ribs as the crowds roar only grew louder and louder by the second. Shawn gripped his guitar tighter to his chest, a wide and bright smile making its way to his lips as he looked up at the opening of the stage to see thousands of people all there for him, screaming his name. A small tear slipped out of Shawn's eyes, his heart full of warmth and gratitude as he reminisced on how far he's come, selling out his first ever stadium show, right here, in his home.

You did it kid.

Shawn shook his head with a soft chuckle, wiping his tears with the back up his hand before bringing it up to press his guitar pick against his lips, eyes fluttering close as he took one deep but thankful breath, right before someone in his ear said that it was time.

Placing the pick on the floor right under the stairs, Shawn climbed up slowly, emerging into the crowd as the people only screamed louder from there on out, that excitement all for him, a sense of pride and gratitude filling him up as walked and reached the middle of the stage.

Shawn gripped his guitar tight against his chest, and under his breath he spoke, his voice soft as a whisper that only he and that mystery man could hear the words:

"I did it."

-:-:-:-:-

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[capcarolsdanver]

Backstage

Request: Would you do an Envy Adams imagine ? Maybe being all flirty and meeting after a show or something

Pairing: Envy Adams x Reader

A/N: My first Envy fic! It’s kinda short but when requests are open again I’d definitely be open to writing more for Envy! I’m not really sure how in character I wrote her so please let me know what you think! Also, Reader’s friend is just a character I made up and is obviously not from the movie. Feedback is always appreciated!

Please do not repost my writing anywhere without my permission.

You grin widely as you and your best friend, Hannah, lean on the barricade directly at the front of the stage, buzzing with excited energy. You’d waited a long time for this day to arrive, and it was finally here.

The Clash at Demonhead was your absolute favourite band and you weren’t at all ashamed to admit it. You’re completely obsessed with the band members, specifically Envy Adams, the lead singer, and this is your first time seeing them live, so to say you’re excited is an understatement.

Though generally you’re definitely a bit of an introvert, and people constantly point out how shy you seem, when you’re at concerts you tend to let go and let the music completely take over you. When the lights go out and the beginning notes of the first song sound across the crowd, you and Hannah turn to each other and scream ecstatically before you turn your attention to the stage.

You hear Envy’s voice and when the stage lights up your eyes finally land on her. You stare at her in awe for a solid few seconds before you lose yourself in the music. You and Hannah loudly sing and dance pretty terribly, but of course you were having too much fun to care so you kept going with every song the band played.

Towards the end of the concert, when the band finish playing one of their songs, Hannah grabs your arm and pulls you towards her.

“Dude, Envy keeps staring at you!”

You look at her, bewildered, and shake your head.

“What? No way.”

“Seriously!”

“Aren’t you too busy staring at Todd to notice what Envy’s doing?” You tease, knowing that your friend has always had the biggest crush on the bassist. She rolls her eyes lightly and looks at you.

“I’m telling you, it’s that obvious that even if I was staring at Todd I would notice.”

You chance a glance at the stage, where Envy is getting a drink of water near the other musicians.

“But basically everyone knows that Envy and Todd are a thing though. Right?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah says with a shrug. “Maybe everyone’s wrong.”

You and Hannah watch Envy walk over to Todd, touching his shoulder to make him lean down so she can whisper in his ear. Seeing this, the crowd goes wild, cheering in their obvious belief that the two band members were in fact together. You raise your eyebrows at Hannah.

“See what I mean?” Hannah looks kind of disappointed, her eyes moving from you back to the stage. You notice them widen slightly and she starts insistently tapping your arm.

“Hannah, what the hell?”

She subtly tilts her head towards the stage and you look up to see Envy and Todd both looking in your direction now. Envy continues speaking quietly to Todd and he nods at her.

“Now do you see what I mean?” Hannah says and you look at her, disbelief across your face.

“I still refuse to believe they were looking at me. There’s so many people here. They could be looking at you for all we know.” Hannah rolls her eyes at you before Envy’s voice captures your attention.

“How’s everyone doing?” Her airy voice carries across the crowd, who loudly cheer back at her. “Alright, we’ve got one more song for you.” The crowd let out a joint sound of disappointment and Envy frowns with them.

“I know, I’m sorry. But all good things must come to an end, right? Thank you all for coming. See you next time!”

The stage goes dark again as the band begins playing Black Sheep, and when they get to the verse the lights come back on. This time you pay more attention to Envy, Hannah’s words playing on your mind.

And sure enough, to your astonishment, she does keep her eyes on you for majority of the song, openly smirking now that she’s finally got you looking back at her. You can’t help but stand in awe as everyone sings and dances around you.

You watch Envy moving around the stage, unable to take your eyes off of her, and during the last chorus she offers you a wink before the final notes of the song play and the stage is once again dark.

“Believe me now?” Hannah teases from beside you.

“Oh my god. I don’t even think my life can get any better than this.”

“Excuse me?” You hear from the other side of the barricade, and turn to find a man smiling at you. “Envy Adams has asked for me to escort you backstage to the band’s dressing room.” Your mouth drops open in shock.

“Wait, what?! Are you serious?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man nods and chuckles a little at your reaction. “Your friend may come with you, too.”

You look at Hannah, who looks just as dumfounded as you, before the two of you follow the man backstage.

------------------------

He leads you to a door, music thumping from behind it. Smiling at you again, he knocks loudly on the door before nodding and leaving you and Hannah to stand in the hallway.

A second later the door swings open, revealing Envy Adams.

“Well, hello there,” she greets and you don’t even know what to say, still taken aback by the situation you find yourself in, so you stand with your mouth slightly open. Envy smirks at you.

“Envy, thank you for inviting us backstage!” Hannah says, obviously picking up on your failure to find words. “You guys were amazing!” You give a quiet sigh of relief when Envy looks to Hannah, giving yourself a moment to attempt to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” Envy smiles, her eyes drifting back to you. “Come on in.” She pulls the door open wider, stepping aside to give you room to walk in and you give Hannah a silent look of thanks for covering for your awkwardness.

You and Hannah enter the room and stop in the centre of it. Your introverted nature is thankful that there’s enough people in the room that the sole focus isn’t on you. Envy shuts the door and approaches you again, noticing your nervous gaze on the people all around you.

“We have friends in this town, so it’s a little more lively than usual tonight.” Your attention falls on Envy and you nod at her but feel immediately awkward when you see her eyes scan over your body, trying not to squirm under her gaze.

“It’s uh. It’s a great atmosphere in here,” You reply, mentally facepalming at how incredibly lame you’re acting in front of Envy Adams right now. Her lips pull into an amused smile before another voice grabs her attention.

“Envy, who do we have here?” Todd joins you, standing next to Hannah who shoots you a quick look before looking back at Todd. He wears a confident smile as he looks between you and Hannah.

“You know, I’m still trying to find that out too,” Envy comments, looking at you and Hannah expectantly. “What’re your names?”

“I’m Hannah,” your friend announces and Envy nods at her before her eyes fall back onto you.

“Oh, I’m Y/N,” you say.

“Y/N,” Envy repeats your name in her airy tone as she takes a step closer to you. “A beautiful name to match a beautiful face.” You feel your face flush, lost in the way Envy looks at you.

“Hannah, how about we go have a drink over here?” Todd gestures behind him and to no surprise, Hannah immediately agrees, giving you an encouraging smile before following behind Todd. You watch them walk away, feeling Envy’s eyes still on you.

“Would you look at that? We’re all alone.” Envy smiles at you when your eyes meet hers again. “How about you go take a seat and I grab us some drinks?”

“Oh, yeah sure!” You try not to let your nerves get the best of you and you smile at Envy and sit down on a couch away from the rest of the people. You silently try to shake your nerves off before Envy saunters over to you, handing you a drink and joining you on the couch.

“Thank you,” you say politely and you hear Envy chuckle.

“You know, after seeing how you were during the show, I’ve gotta say that I’m a little surprised by how reserved you are.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to disappoint then,” you mumble, feeling yourself tense up and pull away from Envy slightly.

“Oh, no. You didn’t disappoint at all!” Envy quickly clarifies. “I like it.” Your muscles relax a little and let a breath out, nodding.

“Well, thank you then,” you say, a bit more confident now.

You quickly scan the room for Hannah, your eyes eventually landing on her. Todd has an arm slung around her shoulders as he talks to her and she catches your eye, smiling and offering a subtle thumbs up to you. Envy follows your gaze to the two across the room.

“I know it probably seems like we bring girls backstage every show, but I swear we don’t,” she says, watching Todd pull Hannah closer. “Well, I don’t. I can’t speak for Todd. I hope your friend isn’t expecting anything serious.”

“I wouldn’t worry. I really don’t think she has a preference what they do to be honest, just as long as they do something.” Envy laughs. “And you’re different?” You get the nerve to ask and Envy’s intense gaze is back on you again.

“I’d like to think so,” she says and you squint your eyes, looking at her skeptically.

“So why’d you ask me back here, then?” Envy’s eyes soften slightly and a small smile plays at her lips.

“The way you were so into every single song we played, I’ve never seen anyone experience our music like that before. I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

Her answer surprises you a little and you blush, biting your lip. Envy’s eyes are immediately drawn to it.

“Well, what can I say? Your music makes me feel like I can let everything go and just be me,” you shrug, replying to her honestly. Envy places her hand on your thigh lightly, studying you intently.

“Well, I hope it’s not just my music that can make you feel like that.” You gulp nervously, your eyes trained on Envy’s hand as she squeezes your thigh gently. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, letting out a shaky breath and Envy scoots a little closer to you.

“Do I make you nervous?” She practically whispers.

“Well, yeah. You’re Envy Adams,” you laugh and she smirks at you, her confidence radiating off of her.

“You know, we’re staying here for a little longer because of all the friends we have here. I’d love to get to know you some more over the next few days.”

You hum at her. “And what about tonight?”

Your gaze falls to Envy’s lips when her tongue darts out to wet them before they pull into another smirk.

“Well, I was hoping you’d maybe like to come see my hotel room.”

#envy adams x reader #envy adams imagine #brie larson x reader #brie larson imagine #envy adams #brie larson #scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim #envy adams fic #brie larson fic #mine #fic

[romaniassexdungeon]

The Siren Softly Sings

Pairing: AmeLiet

Warnings: Death, cannibalism, lime,

Summary: On a family holiday, Alfred's boring trek around an art gallery changes when he comes across a painting of human misery, and a man dedicated to studying it.

Notes:  This is another fic inspired by a Pogues song, this particular one based on "Wake of the Medusa" and is the first of three Baltic fics that tie in together. They'll be written... eventually. One's already started and the other's in planning stage. In the meantime, I'll probably work on other fics from my Pogues series. This fic was inspired by a song inspired by a painting based off a real sinking. The sinking in this fic is fictional, though. This one is... well, I can't go spoiling anything, but it's spoopy, enjoy!

G.A. Densen - Denmark Tomas - Lithuania Jānis - Latvia

Read on AO3

...

The guests are stood in silence, they stare and drink their wine,

On the wall the canvas hangs, frozen there in time,

They marvel at the beauty, the horror and despair,

At the wake of the Medusa, no one shed a tear,

Sit my friends and listen, put your glasses down,

Sit my friends and listen to the voices of the drowned.

...

Alfred didn’t know a lot about art, but he could honestly say that was a big painting.

He could go into further detail, say that the painting itself had further detail, that there were a lot of men crammed on that raft, and they all looked rather fragile compared to the massive storm brewing in the background, but as it were, he just took another sip of coffee and tried to look deep in thought, and not completely, utterly bored.

He glanced around as people slowly filtered in and out, none of whom were his brother. He had no idea where Matthew had wandered off to, but he wasn’t happy about being left in a creepy old gallery with a bunch of old people who looked like they’d keel over and die. They filtered in and out, but he was left alone for the most part. There was something eerie about the painting itself; maybe the twisted, pained expressions of everyone in it? How realistic they were? How they all seemed to be calling to him.  As he waited for his brother to come collect him, Alfred, shuffled off to the side to let others see the painting, deciding to read the little plaque next to it.

Wreck of the Medusa - G.A. Densen

Painted in 1800, this romantic piece depicts the sinking of the Medusa, a Danish merchant vessel run aground in the north Atlantic. After the officers and passengers were shepherded onto lifeboats, the main body of the crew was left to fend for themselves. Though some managed to cling to a makeshift raft, only one man was ever found alive.

Densen effectively and realistically conveys extreme emotion in his work, capturing the anguish of those doomed, and, for an unknown reason, painting himself into the picture (centre-right).

Alfred glanced over at the man in question, staring out at him with pleading eyes. He shuddered.

This was Densen’s final painting, finished shortly before his disappearance. No one knows what happened to him, and his body was never found.

Well, that was spooky.

“Haunting, is it not?”

Alfred jumped at the voice, and wheeled round to find the room empty, save for one assistant, standing in the corner.

“Err, yeah.” He gave a friendly smile, despite the fact that he was shaking and had gotten an actual adrenaline rush from being crept up on. “You know about it? The - err - the painting?”

The assistant nodded. “Of course. I work here.” He took a couple of steps closer, looking down at his hands and giving a melancholy sigh. He seemed nervous, like he didn’t often get the opportunity to talk to people, and that lack of practice made him scared to try. Still, his confidence was growing. Nothing was going to stop him talking about this giant-ass painting. “I have studied the Wreck of the Medusa for years now,” he appeared to be trying his best not to look too excited, but the way his voice cracked and his eyes lit up told another story, “I could tell you everything there is to know about it.”

Alfred had to admire the man’s passion. The only thing he’d been as dedicated to learn was the pokerap.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to learn about the painting, though; everything about it gave him the heebies, and then the jeebies. But he did love seeing people talk about that they were passionate about.  And the guy was cute, too. He was dressed like a librarian in a baggy brown jumper and worn tie. His hair also had a grey tinge to it, as did his skin, but he was handsome. He just needed to get out more. Catch the sun. Maybe Alfred could take him out.

“You know what? I’d love to hear it.”

The man smiled; it made his face less grey.

“Well, for starters, you read it was a Romanticism piece, right?”

“Yeah… what the hell is Romanticism? Doesn’t look very romantic. Not really into drowning dudes. But I am very much into dudes,” he added, hoping the guy would get the point. He didn't know how to say it clearer.

The guy smiled.

“I hear that a lot. Um, the not knowing about Romantic art. Oh, I did not catch your name!”

“Alfred F. Jones. I mean, I legally changed my middle name to Fortnite last year. And before that, the F stood for Franklin, though my brother says it was to pay respects when I was born. But anyway, what about you?”

The guy blinked, probably understanding about 10% of Alfred’s ramble. “I am Tomas Septys. Lovely to meet you.”

“You too, man. So, Romanticism?”

Tomas sat down on the bench in the middle of the room. Alfred joined him, leaving space between them.

“Yes, it is an art movement.” He paused, excited to continue, but scared to bore him with a ramble.

“What kind?” Alfred prompted. He knew nothing about art movements. Tomas made him want to learn more.

“It places emphasis on emotion,” said Tomas, playing with his hands, “particularly, the emotion of the artist. The idea behind that is using your imagination for your work, not really worrying about the rules. And being original.”

Alfred nodded slowly.

“Of course, Densen was using his imagination for this, having not been present when the ship sank.” He stood up, walking over to the painting. “His… his love was on the Medusa. There.” He pointed at the man next to Densen, clinging to his shirt. Alfred thought it looked pretty freaking gay, but had the sneaking suspicion many people had insisted it was platonic throughout the years. “Not many people know that, though historians have debated.”

“So you think they were in love?”

“I know they were.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “You know?”

“Densen’s private diaries were recovered recently. Someone had hidden them.” Tomas didn’t take his eyes off the painting. “Eduard Mets never came home. Densen waited months for the news. He hoped, prayed someone had picked him up. Maybe he’d washed ashore, or gotten lost.”

“That… I couldn’t even imagine going through that.” Alfred studied the painting. Densen was wailing, like his soul was silently being torn in half. He could almost hear the screams.

"I think he had to accept it, after a while. That Eduard was not coming back. I have a feeling that, after finishing this painting, he… he walked into the ocean." He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "I mean, that is the legend, but there is always truth at the heart of a legend."

Alfred nodded, then he froze. "Wait, is this a ghost story?"

Tomas smiled. "Does that scare you?"

"Fucking yeah?"

"You can leave if you want. Walk out of the door."

Alfred thought about it. The room was darker than usual. Everyone was gone. No one had come in in a while now. He shivered.

"No, I'll stay."

"Good answer, but I am all out of time. My lunch break is over now. Can you come back tomorrow?"

Alfred looked at him. He was supposed to go look at some old buildings with Matthew. Maybe a museum or something. What the fuck was an "Old Town"?

He could blow it off.

"Yeah, sure. Same time tomorrow." He gave a smile, and left the room.

...

In the moonlight's ghostly glow, I waken in a dream,

Once more upon that raft I stand, upon a raging sea,

In my ears the moans and screams of the dying ring,

Somewhere in the darkness, the siren softly sings,

Out there in the waves she stands and smiling there she calls,

As the lightning cracks the sky, the wind begins to howl.

...

True to his promise, Alfred was back in front of the painting, and Tomas was waiting for him on the other side of the room.

“Hey, how you been?”

Tomas smiled at him. “Looking forward to seeing you. I did not know if you would be true to your word, I must confess.”

“Hey, man, I said I’d be here. You’re cute and I only got a few days left to see you.” He blushed at that. How would Tomas take it? People assumed he was good at flirting, because he looked like a Chad, but Alfred had no idea what he was doing. He often didn’t.

Tomas looked at his shoes, smiling to himself. “We must make the most of our waning time.”

Alfred glanced at the painting, then back to Tomas. “I guess you wanna talk about it some more?”

Tomas nodded. “You will not, truly, understand the painting, until we talk about the individualism.”

“The what?”

“You need to know the story of the men here. The individual men.”

“You know the names of all the men in the painting?” That was dedication.

“Some. We could not find out about every man. But Eduard and his two friends, Toris Laurinaitis and Jānis Garais,” he pointed them out, "we know about them."

“Toris has your hair,” Alfred noted.

“I get that a lot.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He was a thoughtful man, a Lithuanian sailor who travelled the world, and ended up in Copenhagen at the wrong time. Got work on the Medusa with his friends, trading on the Gold Coast and hoping to come back with… gold, funny enough.”

Alfred nodded.

“No voyage was easy back in those days, but the risk brought reward, and I imagine the three were looking forward to getting a decent pay. Or… maybe not. Maybe promotion, something more stable. I do not know.”

“But the ship sank?”

Tomas nodded. “A few weeks in, a storm hit the North Atlantic and the ship ran aground.”

“The one in the painting?”

“Yes, the one in the painting.” Tomas looked at the painting. It dominated the room, seemingly growing as Alfred stared. He swore it was moving: clouds fuzzing around the edges, sea rolling ever so slowly. But every time he tried to remember where a wave had been before, he couldn’t. The painting had always been like that.

“The few passengers the ship had were loaded onto boats. And the senior crew. The rich, important people on the ship. There were few lifeboats. Little row boats that would barely survive the storm, but it was better than a doomed ship. The crew, the disposable members… no one particularly cared what happened to them.”

“That’s… wow.” He couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, but it still made his stomach sink. “Were they… did they…”

“The three friends, well, they had always stuck together, and they would, no matter what.” Tomas rubbed his shoulder. “What happened next… it shook Europe to its core.”

“What happened?”

“That, my friend, is a story for tomorrow.”

“Are you for real?” Alfred groaned, “did you just IRL clickbait a Goddamn painting?”

“I have no idea what you just said, but please ?” asked Tomas, “for me?” He smiled sheepishly; Alfred’s protest caught in his throat. “I have to get back to work, but…” He looked at the painting, “their story needs to be told.” His voice cracked.

“I’ll come back. I promise.” Alfred reached over and squeezed his hand.

“You are so warm,” Tomas commented. “You know, you can meet me after the museum closes. Stay behind… there is a cupboard you can hide in. People sneak in there all the time.” He blushed at that. Deeply.

“Oh I’ll be there.” Alfred was blushing too. “You’ll find me in there. In the cupboard. In the dark.”

...

The architects of our doom, around their tables sit,

And in their thrones of power, condemn those they've cast adrift,

Echoes down the city street, their harpies laughter rings,

Waiting for the curtain call, oblivious in the wings.

...

The gallery was silent. Even the security guards had forgotten to come to work, had forgotten to set alarms. They usually did when something was about to happen.

Despite the shattering silence, Tomas made no sound as he walked past his painting. The sun was setting through the dusty windows, gold sinking, to be replaced by grey. He wondered if Alfred had been true to his word; he’d not seen him about the gallery.

He walked on, slowly and deliberately towards their meeting place.

Tomas actually giggled as Alfred dragged him into the cupboard, kissing all over his neck.  “Yo, how many spiders do you think are in here?” he laughed, hands on Tomas’s arms.

“Just ignore them.” He smiled at him, even if Alfred couldn't see it. "It will be okay. Just focus on me. Nothing but me."

"I can do that." Alfred kissed where the thought Tomas's nose would be. He landed on a cheek.

Tomas returned the kiss, tasting the sugar on his lips. "Just for tonight, let me be your world."

...

The casket is empty, abandon ye all hope,

They ran off with the money, and left us with the rope.

...

Tomas breathed against Alfred’s chest, clinging to the warmth and rush of blood and Alfred’s ragged breathing. It had been lonely, wandering about the gallery; he missed the touch of another person.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Alfred whispered in his ear, shirt crumpled on the floor, trousers bunched at his knees. Tomas nodded. He let Alfred play with his hair, feeling the man tuck it behind his ears and kiss his forehead. He almost wept at the tenderness.

“Do you have to go?” he whispered back.

“Yeah. My plane’s tomorrow.” He pulled away to plaster his clothes back on him. Tomas sighed and pulled up his trousers; he hadn’t done anything like that in a while.

In a rare moment of spontaneity, Tomas stepped forward and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around Alfred’s waist, squeezing him. He couldn’t let him go.

Alfred stopped buttoning his shirt to hug him back. “I know, babe. Look, how about we go in the gallery, you tell me about the painting, and we come back here and hide away til the morning?”

Tomas smiled. “I’d like that. Come on,” he straightened his jumper, “time to finish my story.”

He took Alfred’s hand and guided him through the darkness, through long corridors with ceilings lost in the gloom, to the room he knew so well. In the feeble moonlight, the painting looked alive. Alfred shivered.

For a long moment, Tomas said nothing. He stared up at the painting, willing himself to go on.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened?” Alfred looked at him, “to these three friends?”

Tomas nodded.

“You gonna tell me why you made me stay behind? This place is creeping me out, man.”

Tomas took his hand. “Are you scared?”

“What? Nah! Of course not! I- yeah, this is pretty scary. I’m not scared, just… uneasy.”

“I see. Fascinating.”

“Tomas, please-”

“So impatient. The three floated on their raft for a week, hoping and praying that someone would find them. They survived on rainwater, taunted by the ocean surrounding them. So refreshing to hear, but would kill them if they drank.” Tomas gave him a sorrowful smile. “No ships came. There was nothing to eat. Not for the first week, at least.”

“Oh, did they get some fish? A seagull?” suggested Alfred. Tomas almost laughed at his optimism.

“Jānis was smaller than the other two. Weaker. He was the first to succumb to his hunger, and on the seventh day, his friends woke up to find his corpse.”

Alfred winced, finding Jānis among the other faces in the painting. He looked so young, barely a man, with a round face and golden curls.

“That must’ve been horrible,” he agreed.

“Then, his friends succumbed to their hunger, in a different way.” Tomas shrugged. “Jānis’s emaciated body hardly counted as fresh meat, but it was a source of food.”

Alfred wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You mean they ate their friend ?”

“They did not mean to!”

“How do you not mean to eat someone?”

“There was no other way!”

“Woah, why you getting so emotional about it? I’m not saying I blame them, just that it’s a bit gross.”

“Please,” Tomas looked at him, face lined with fear, “we were starving! There was nothing that could be done for Jānis, but maybe, Eduard and I-”

Alfred looked at him. “Woah, woah, wait, do you think you’re the guy in the painting?”

Tomas grimaced, glancing at the exit. “Can you keep a secret?" Alfred nodded. "I am the guy in the painting. I am Toris.”

“Oh come on, man, you need to get outta the gallery more.”

“I cannot leave this place,” said Tomas, quietly.

“Whatever!” Alfred turned to walk out. He was done with this, with Tomas and his secrets and hiding things, and now he was trying to tell him-

The doors slammed in his face.

Tomas stood behind him, hands out, his mouth strained.

“You may leave,” he whispered, “once I have finished my story.”

Alfred shrank away. He rattled the doorknob, but it was stuck fast. “Let me go!”

“Alfred,” Tomas held his hands up, “I promise, I will set you free the moment I have finished my story.”

Alfred growled and kicked the door, quickly giving up. “Fine! Tell me what happened to you, Ghost Boy!”

“A ghost? Huh…” Tomas scratched at his shoulder, “a restless spirit… yes, I suppose I am.”

Alfred, though nothing terrified him more than the supernatural, took a step forward. Then another, and another. He thought about slamming him against the wall, but didn't want to see what this restless spirit could do.

And, on a slightly related note, what exactly had he just nut in? Was his jizz actually on the cupboard wall? He could ask about that later, maybe.

“What. Happened,” he growled, speaking slowly, “Tomas, Toris, whoever you are, tell me what happened.”

“We were found, a few weeks later,” Tomas took a step back, climbing over the rope barrier and pressing himself against the painting. His own face silently wailed next to him. “Well, I was. As for Eduard…”

“ Yes ?”

“Bones. Picked clean. And blood caked on my chin. It was obvious to see what happened.” Tomas stared at his friend in the painting.

“They said I was a monster,” he whimpered, “I was hanged for my crimes, tortured for no other reason than disgust. The people who left me on that raft got away with it, but I was killed for trying to survive.” He looked at Alfred. “I am no monster.”

“I mean, dude, I’d count ghosts as monsters,” Alfred shrugged, “and eating people is messed up…”

“You have my word, I slaughtered no one. All I did was outlive them. Do you trust me?”

“What the hell kinda question is that? I mean, you’re a cannibal who’s had my dick in your mouth, so you can’t be all bad, but… man, this is too freaky. I gotta go. Think about stuff.”

He turned to leave. Tomas didn’t move.

“Hey, come on, open the doors!”

Tomas gave a whimper. “Please… please stay. I cannot be alone.”

Alfred paused. This was stupid; either Tomas - Toris - was playing some messed-up joke on him, or he was talking to an actual, real ghost. Either way, every instinct told him not to stick around.

“Fine,” he sighed, “I’ll stay.” Why was he so stupid?

“You will not leave?”

“I- I won’t.”

Toris stepped forward and took his arm. In the shadows, he seemed to shift, shrugging off his stuffy librarian’s outfit. His shirt shimmered in the faint gasps of moonlight, pure white and seemingly floating. His face hollowed, eyes wild, a trapped animal. When Alfred looked at his hand, it was bones held together with skin. Though Toris looked like a zombie, the sight was too pitiful to send him running.

“You will stay with me?”

Alfred gulped. He nodded.

“You, my love, are a fool.”

...

Matthew had been looking for his brother, the next morning when he didn’t return home. He knew Alfred had been obsessed with the gallery, taking an interest in another country’s culture for the first time ever. He’d forgone the beach, the club, even the theme park to come back here. It would’ve been a nice surprise, had it not taken over his entire life.

Alfred couldn’t be convinced, and now he was gone. Matthew walked as fast as he could, through the many little rooms with humanity’s history in paintings, past tourists and old people, past security guards who paid him no mind, past-

Matthew stopped. There was no need to rush.

He looked at the nearest painting, one of a girl and her dog. She was sat on her swing, in the back garden of a cottage. Her dog seemed to be chasing her as she swung, a playful movement to his tail. He liked the lighting in it, but didn’t know much about paintings to comment further.

He moved on.

The place was nice, and he’d happily spend a day here, but he needed to catch his flight later that afternoon. The sun warmed his face as he passed windows twice his height, but the next room he entered - off to the side - was cool and dark.

There was one painting.

It took up most of the wall, a scene of misery stretched out before him. The twisted pain in the faces of the sailors clinging to a raft, spilling into the sea and splashing wildly, reaching out to grab at their comrades.

In the background, a storm raged, destroying what was left of the ship, thrown about like the broken carcass of an insect.

In the foreground, among other terrified sailors, was a man who jolted something in Matthew’s mind. There was something familiar about him. They looked super similar, and Matthew smiled. It was nice to find your doppelganger in a painting.

There was a sense of loss too, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

A voice spoke up behind him, so sudden it made him jump.

“Haunting, is it not?”

#ameliet #APH America #aph lithunia #hetalia #APH Canada #alfred f jones #toris laurinaitis #matthew williams #aph latvia #aph estonia #aph denmark #peace and love #pogueverse #APH Baltics #aph na bros #HETALIA FANFIC #Hetalia fic

[qchcblog]

Interview With Jael Bartnik of Hit The Streets

In anticipation of the second annual Harvest Prince Holiday show, we chatted with Jael Bartnik of Regina punk band Hit The Streets: https://hitthestreets.bandcamp.com/album/hit-the-streets-2

What band do you play in? What do you sound like? How long have you been around? Jael: I play guitar and yell in Hit The Streets a solid punk rock unit that’s been around for two years? Pretty sure it’s been that long. What's one thing you love about the Regina music scene? Jael: I really like the people that I’ve gotten to meet. Especially women and LGBTQ2+ folx who have been roll models. In my younger years (started going to shows at 13 so I started itty bitty) they really helped me feel welcome and like I actually belonged in that space. I also love how supportive people are. You need to borrow a patch cable? No probs. Need a ride? All good. Place to crash? I got you. Great DIY scenes come from the kindness of folks and there are a few incredibly kind people here. That I’m thankful for. What's one thing you dislike about the Regina music scene? Jael: Stating the obvious: male dominated/focused. I could see that changing a bit. Thanks to super rad groups Like Girls Rock Regina and spaces that bring in youth and teach them basics about instruments and what it’s like to jam/write a song with people. That’s something pretty awesome to learn in a space that is free from judgement especially when there’s more pressure on you to be just as good if not better than the dudes and you’re just learning.

For the dumbass guys that don’t get it.. How would the Regina music scene benefit from a more gender-diverse community? 

Jael: I think the dinosaurs who don’t get it really need to realize that there isn’t a justifiable reason for gatekeeping and being a jerk because they think “uGh FeMiniSm iS RuiNing the wOrLd.” or whatever bullshit excuse about not being politically correct. Man fuck that. If your not will to treat people with dignity and respect then you’ll probs be jamming with the same shitty garbage bros who think they’re so edgy because they “don’t care about being politically correct.” Also jamming with more folks regardless of their gender, sexuality, race/ethnicity just means you will have better more diverse music. Lots of people from different backgrounds means more lives experiences that some one can apply to the tunes. Whether that’s with instruments, creating beats on a computer, writing, you have more folks to bring into that and a more vibrant scene. Not the same group of dude bros doing Pantera covers. If you can’t on board with treating people with respect and making ALL KINDS OF GENRES OF MUSIC then maybe you’re not the “Nice guy” you claim to be. Go back to typing away in the comment section cause I literally have no time for that.

   What can men do to make the music scene more welcoming to non-males? 

Jael: When ever I think of dudes asking “Well what can I do?” I always suggest looking for resources. Because it can be exhausting be a woman, person of colour, or LGBTQ2+ person who has to be the educator constantly. For certain issues I can only really give the perspective from a bisexual persons perspective. So my challenge I would say if guys are looking to walk the walk and not just talk the talk get educated. The Women’s Centre or UR Pride are great resources. Donate to the YWCA or see if they need volunteers. It shouldn’t just be about the scene but your community as well. Research and then ask yourself what you can do and what sort of skills you can use to encourage positive growth in the scene. What's your favorite Holiday show set of all time? Jael: The fourth year which I’m pretty sure that was the year I started going. I still have the original itty bitty flyer from that one. What are your three favorite movies and why? Jael: Right now they are: The Craft - Because witches are fucking amazing and hellooo I give off big witch energy. Alien- The OG cause I could watch Sigourney Weaver be a badass all day. Howl’s Moving Castle- I Love Hayao Miyazaki’s films is visual gorgeous and the soundtrack is beautifully written.

What have you been watching lately? Jael: A lot of episodes of Bon Appetite “It’s Alive” with Brad Leone and “Original Gourmet” with Claire Saffitz. Honestly with I could work in the B.A. test kitchen and ferment food stuffs, test bread recipes, go noodling for catfish. All that good shit. Also I have crushes on Claire and Brad. 🤣 Which Lord of the Rings character do you relate with the most? Jael: Pippin probably cause I usually end up sing a random song after being out for a pint with friends (you know he karaoke). Except I’ve never danced on a table just a chair/booth which was also while singing a song. So yeah... I’m basically a very tall hobbit

Any issues you want to address/thoughts on your mind/people you want to praise? Jael: If you don’t see yourself represented or you want to do stuff that you don’t see happening in your town sometimes you just gotta go out and do it. Start that band. Make some art. Put on a show. Make a short film. Life is really short. It’s better to spend it with great people making beautiful things.

Catch Hit The Streets at The Harvest Prince Holiday Show on December 28 at The Exchange!

[babyshawwn]

Say It First (smut)

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.6k.

I had just gotten off from yet another busy day of rehearsing with the guys for the up-coming tour around Europe and though I was excited to get back on the road again, I was feeling rather exhausted and a slight headache was beginning to nag me. 

As much as I loved what I did and my insane schedule was mostly fun to me, I couldn’t deny that working non-stop and traveling the world left it obvious traces on me when I forgot to relax once in a while as well. 

As Mike gave me a ride home, I was too tired to listen to his endless rambling about drumsticks and music, but I managed to nod at the right times and seem somewhat interested in what he was going on about. 

I stared out of the window as cars passed beside me in the dark while thinking about what the plans were when I got home. I was currently living with my best friend – since she had gotten kicked out of her dorm for smoking weed, which wasn’t really a surprise to me – but it was nice for once having someone around when I was home. 

I had known her for years and years and I guess she made me feel less lonely. Suddenly I wasn’t all alone with my thoughts, I actually had someone to share them with, someone who never seemed to judge me. 

Since it was a Saturday night, the chances of her going out with friends and dragging me along was rather high but I didn’t really mind it, though. Her friends were pretty cool and I always had a good time when being around them. 

And really, I wanted to spend as much time with her as I possibly could. Alone or with others, it didn’t matter to me. I felt more comfortable when she was around, a little less tense and I lately, I’d been craving that feeling more than I usually did. 

Mike turned into the familiar parking lot as I reached for my bag, thanking him for the ride home before jumping out of the black car and headed towards my apartment. As I unlocked the front door and stepped into the hall, I couldn’t hear any signs of her being home. 

Sadly.  

No loud music, no chatting in the distant nor any noise from the tv in the living room. The lights were out too and her coat wasn’t laying on the floor, I noticed, since I wasn’t tripping over it on the way in as usual. 

She was great, rather messy but great. 

I figured she had already left for town, half drunk on a bottle of vodka with a friend in her arm, singing along to some indie song, I’d never heard before. 

A slight disappointment reached the surface of my stomach as I pushed the warm hoodie over my head and carelessly let it fall on the floor. Moving my head to each side, desperately trying to ease up my tense muscles, my ears suddenly caught a faint, unfamiliar, rather strange noise coming from the end of the dark hallway. 

At first, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but as I walked further towards the source of the noise, it sounded like a small sob coming from y/n’s room at the end of the hall. 

A sudden heat flashed to my cheeks as I realised it was a soft moan and the panic began pumping in my veins as the noises grew wider. 

Who was she hooking up with? That dude from last Friday night? Maybe the one from the Drake concert?

As I wondered about it, a sudden tug started in my chest and forced a sharp pain to spread within a few seconds. The thing was, I was completely smitten with her. I probably always had been. From when we met each other as kids, into our younger years starting school and all the way till now. 

I had always convinced myself it was a silly, little crush that would pass at some point but no, ever since she moved in and we practically spend each waken moment together, I found myself falling all in her. 

Her long, wavy hair and those warm eyes. The way she bit the tip of her fingernail when she was fully focused on something to the way her smile could light up a room when she walked in. She was without a doubt the most beautiful person, I had ever come across. And I was all about her.  

We had always been the complete opposite of each other. She was wild and adventurous and I had a boring habit of playing it safe and thinking too much. 

She just jumped into it without any regrets and I had always been insanely attracted to that side of her. 

Her spur of the moment decisions that either got her in trouble or ended up being another great story to tell. She had intrigued me at the beginning simply because she was everything I wasn’t and even after years of knowing her, she still took me by surprise, she still caught me off guard. 

And the way she acted around me, that was without a doubt the best thing about her. She was fun and always innocently flirting with me, her spontaneous ways and weekend get-aways made me feel young again, free. Maybe even a little careless. 

And the way she was always making sure I was okay and always made me feel better whenever life was hard to handle, I loved that about her. She always put other people before herself.

She had always been there, with absolute no judgement, she had always taken care of me when I was falling apart at three in the morning. 

One night, she had found me sobbing my eyes out on the floor in the living room and I had been terrified of her reaction to it, because I had never let anyone see my weak sides before. And all she did, was hold me. She held me to her chest the entire night, knowing it was all I needed her to do. She was and had always been my rock. 

And though all of this had been going on for years, I still had to suffer when she brought home guys and hooked up with them in the room next to mine. I still had to suffer when she asked me advise about guys or had me help her pick them up at bars and clubs. And I guess, I just did the same as her. To hide the pain. 

I’d never said anything, though. She would probably have a mental break down if she knew how I felt about her and our friendship would probably become too awkward or uncomfortable to deal with. 

She didn’t do boyfriends. Heck, she didn’t even do love. And she definitely didn’t do either of those things with me. 

I heard it again, another moan from her bedroom, this time louder and a little husky. My body was tense and I felt the urge to bite my bottom lip hardly as I continued hearing sensual whimpers from her room. 

“Fuck” she gasped with a sore cry as I felt the heat rush down my spine.  

I knew I shouldn’t be listening to her having sex – it was just weird - but somehow her sweet groans forced my body to freeze completely outside her door. 

“Mhh, Shawn.” 

Wait, was that? 

My mouth dropped completely and my eyes widened fully as I heard my name escape her mouth. 

What the heck was going on? 

I creeped over to her door, which was cracked just a tiny bit open. Silently, pushing it to open just a tad more, I felt an uncomfortable feeling reach the surface of my stomach, knowing I was fully invading her personal space in this very moment. I was just confused and a bit curious to what was going on. 

I peeked through the tiny crack of her door while keeping my balance with my hands on the doorframe, trying to make as little noise as possible. My eyes caught her heated, red face as her head was resting against the white headboard and her eyes were tightly shut while she was fingering herself roughly. 

Once again, a massive wave of heat flushed my face and I felt sweet, sensual tickles between my thighs as I watched her pleasured face and heard the slight whimpers from her pink lips.

She was fully naked and her perfect, plump boobs were slightly bouncing as her fingers continued pumping in and out of her wet core. She was dripping – leaving traces on her black sheets – as the squinting sounds from her fingers colliding with her wet centre filled my ears. 

I felt myself grow hard at the sight as my toes curled when another loud moan escaped from her perfect, little mouth. My body was tense and the throbbing feeling in my pants grew stronger each second, I stood here, peeking on her like this. 

She was gasping for air and her chest was covered in small drops of sweat. Her legs were spread wildly apart and her toes were curling the sheets from the sexual frustration she was clearly giving herself. 

Her hair was messy and sticking to her sweaty neck as she threw her head back and whimpered once again. 

“Fuck, Shawn…” She cried as she added another finger and forced them in deeper this time. 

Drops of white liquid ran out of her as her fingers twisted inside her throbbing core. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I realised she was fantasising about me; all alone in her bed, wet and horny. 

And so fucking beautiful. 

I was beyond turned on already as my hard cock pressed against the tight fabric of my jeans. I was aching from hearing her raspy voice moan out my name, throbbing from the idea of her finger-fucking herself to the thought of me, growing harder with every whimper that fell from her trembling lips. 

She was so wet, so ready and all because the idea of me.

A warmth rose in my dry throat and somewhat of a loud groan suddenly sounded from my mouth gaping wide open. 

“Shawn?” She asked as her eyes popped wide open. 

The loud sound from my mouth drew her attention to the crack at the door and shortly after, her wild eyes fell on my shadow, hiding cowardly behind. She didn’t remove her slurred eyes from mine but she continued sliding her fingers in and out roughly as she used her thumb to add more pleasure against her slippery clit. 

I was a little confused, a tad uncomfortable and pretty fucking heated from the surprise of how she carelessly continued masturbating after she had caught me watching her from a distant. 

Her tongue slipped across her pink lips as she hummed sweetly while her fingers spun inside her and made her strain a muscle as a shot of pleasure made her exposed body tremble. 

She locked our eyes together and bit roughly into her bottom lip, knowing she had caught the boner hiding in my pants. I scratched the back of my head as I tried removing my eyes from her, but somehow, they always ended on her body again. 

“y/n… I-I sh-“ I stuttered as the heat spread further. 

I felt a sharp yank between my thighs as I rubbed them together to get some sort of friction to my cock throbbing for her. Sensually, she licked her lips and lowered her eyes to my hard dick. 

“Oh Shawn.” She hummed, tilting her head with a tiny smile. 

“Arr-are you?” I stumbled over my words as I felt a tight knot in my stomach.

“Thinking about you?” she asked teasingly with a massive smile on her face. “Yes, Shawn. I am.” 

I swallowed as her playful words sent a warmth, tickle feeling down my spine. 

“You like what you see?” She breathed, bucking her hips to fully expose her dripping core to my lusting eyes. 

I couldn’t find the words to speak, but nervously I managed to nod at her teasing question. I had thought about her naked on many occasions, but this vision was much better than I could have ever imagined it in my mind. 

Roughly, she removed her wet fingers from her core and put them into her mouth, sucking her juices with a moan. 

“Fuck.” I breathed as I watched her mouth moved around her fingers. 

“You want to taste too?” 

“Please.” I gasped out as I felt a tremble. 

She held out her fingers – the fingers – and then I didn’t waist more time on watching her. Swaying across the room, I kneeled on the white bed as she watched me carefully while I put her fingers into my mouth. 

Shutting my eyes, I let my tongue lick her as her sweet taste exploded in my mouth. She groaned as my tongued played with the tip of her fingers and I forced a rough suck every other second. 

I had imagined this moment in my head for such a long time, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact, that this was actually happening. At last. 

Suddenly, her hand tugged into my curls and forced chills down my back. She removed her fingers from my mouth and let them slide down my damp neck, leaving wet traces behind on the way. Her fingertip followed my clenched jawline as she sent me a tiny smile. 

“So you were thinking about me?” I asked, stuttering over my words. 

“I was.” 

“What were you thinking about?” I found myself asking as another flushed reached my already steamy cheeks. 

“Oh Shawn, always so shy.” She whispered as her thumb slipped to my lips and pushed them from each other. 

She bended forward for her mouth to reach my ear and I held my breath when she came closer. 

“I was thinking how this…” Her hand stirred to between my legs and brushed against my hard cock. “Would feel inside me.” 

I whimpered as her fingers moved around in small circles against my most sensitive area. Biting hardly into my bottom lip, I tried somehow coping with the massive amount of sexual frustration she was giving me with her gentle touches. I pressed my heated neck against her face as she let out groan from the contact with my skin. 

“Is it bad that all I want to do is fuck you?” I asked her as she continued sending waves of frustration through my body. Moving her fingers into my hair, she pushed my head further against her mouth. 

“I’ve wanted you to for so long.” She admitted. 

“You never told me.” 

“I thought I gave you plenty of signs.” She whimpered desperately, feeling my breath against her skin. 

Thinking about it, maybe she did, but as always, I was too much of a pussy to do anything about it. I was too scared of misreading the signals and ruining the bond we had grown strong throughout the years. 

“I didn’t want to fuck up our friendship.” 

“Really, Shawn?” 

“What?” I asked confused at her statement. 

“Friends don’t look at each other like we do.” She muttered as her eyes locked on mine. 

For a second, her stare was vulnerable as she forced in air between her lips. I smiled lovingly at her, knowing she was exposing her heart to me in a moment of weakness, as I let my hand stroke her burning cheek.  

“How do we look at each other, then?” I dared her, raising my eyebrow playfully.  

“Like we want to rip each other’s clothes off as soon as possible.” She gasped back, biting into her plump, bottom lip. 

“Then do it.” I blurred out, taken back by my own eagerness to feel her skin on mine. 

She laughed at my comment, probably just as surprised at my sudden boldness before she let her hands wander down my back, reaching for the hem of my white t-shirt and slowly pushing it over my head. 

Throwing it at the floor in her messy room, her eyes lingered at my naked chest and I watched as they slowly widened by the sight that met her face. Her fingertips were suddenly on my skin, tracing slowly down my chest to my stomach to the beginning of my happy trail. 

I threw my head back and sucked in air as her hands unbuckled my pants and she forced them halfway down my thighs. Her mouth began kissing my lower stomach and she used her warm tongue to leave sore hickeys on my body, teasingly avoiding the area throbbing for her the most. 

I forced my fingers into her messy hair and dragged her head closer to my burning skin, too eager and impatient to feel her properly. 

I reached down between her legs to rub my palm against her wet centre as she moaned against my skin when my hand made contact. She was wetter than I expected her to be. Soaking actually and already dripping into my palm that barely brushed against the sensitive area between her quivering legs. 

“Take your pants off completely.” She told me, removing her hands from my body. “I want to taste you too.” 

Her whispering words punched out the air in my lungs but I did as she told me. Licking her lips, she tilted her head at the sight. 

My cock was hard and ready for her warm mouth, just the thought of those plump lips around the tip of my head was enough to push me further towards the edge. She lowered her body as she wrapped her left hand around my length and forced a groan to escape my mouth. 

“Shit!” I breathed as her mouth attached itself to my tip. 

I was extremely sensitive from watching her play with herself. She closed her lips around my tip and twisted a few times, making me squirm in pleasure from her wet mouth caressing me. She moved her mouth fully down to the root of my cock as her tongue licked along with her soft yet firm sucks. 

I bucked my hips to meet her mouth as she moved further down and flicked her tongue to add a tad more pleasure. 

“Fucking hell.” I sobbed. 

My eyes lowered their stare as I caught her looking towards my face while sucking my dick and I couldn’t help but let out a tiny smile. Using my hands in her hair, I pushed her head towards my face and pressed my nose against her burning cheeks. 

“I’ve spend so many nights thinking about this.” I breathed, my thumb softly gliding back and forth her lips. “Are we really doing this?” I asked her. 

“Yes. Now shut up and kiss me, Mendes.” She gasped, demanding as always. 

I leaned forward and crashed my lips eagerly into hers. She kissed me back hungrily, tugging her fingers into my hair and pushing my lips closer to hers. Her tongue spread my lips apart and forcefully, she slipped it into my welcoming mouth. 

She tasted better than I imagined her to, better than I had hoped. 

I groaned against her mouth as my hands began rubbing her tender, pink breast. I felt her writhed against me as my thumbs pinched her sore nipples.

Her hands moved to my back and she forced her nails roughly into my skin as my fingers continued adding pressure on her hard nipples. 

“Fuck Shawn.” She muttered into my mouth as I felt her gasp desperately for air. 

My hands slipped down her bare back and as I reached the curve of her soft ass, I slapped her harshly to tease her. She broke the kiss as she screamed loudly by the pleasurable pain I was coursing her.

My fingers grabbed around her ass, yanking and rubbing her roughly as she threw her head back and moaned loudly. I attached my lips to her throat and began sucking as I continuingly slapped and squeezed her ass to make her moan out my name. 

She was big and soft, plump and round; the best ass I’d ever laid eyes on.  

“I’m obsessed with your fucking ass.” I growled against her sweaty skin as I heard a faint laughter from her mouth. 

“I know.” 

“You know?”

“I’ve caught you looking multiple times.” 

Another heatwave floated my face as I felt a slight embarrassment of how obvious I had apparently been. Heck, an ass like hers was impossible to avoid looking at. 

I pushed my hips against her stomach, letting her feel my length digging into her skin just to tease a bit more. Her lips went to the soft spot underneath my ear and began kissing down my neck. 

My hands trailed down, rubbing her bum one last time and then I let my fingers drag along her soaked centre, my thumb brushing lightly against her clit. 

“Are you just going to tease or are you actually going to fuck me?” She whimpered. Her voice was desperate and cracked over at the end. 

I placed my hands on her hips, forcing her to sway her back bend over in the bed. I settled myself behind her ass pointing upwards completely exposed to me as she was bending over in front of my body. I leaned forwards and kissed gently down her spine as she pushed her ass back to touch the tip of my cock. 

“Not yet.” I told her as my hands found her boobs hanging from her chest. 

I twisted her nipples between my fingers as she whimpered arched her back to cope with the tension she was feeling. I grabbed her inner thighs, my fingernails sinking into her skin, as I spread her legs apart and exposed her pussy entirely.  

“Please Shawn. Don’t be such a tease.” She begged in a whimper. “I want to feel your cock.” 

“You’re sexy as fuck. I can’t stop looking at you.” 

“You can look later, okay? Just get to fucking work.” She hissed back at me. 

I rolled my eyes at her as I rested my palm on her sweaty back. Without giving her a warning, I pressed myself into her in a hard move. She whimpered while I slid in deeper and filled her out. She was tight, a perfect form for my dick.  

Arching her back, she pushed her ass further against to hips to meet another of my thrust into her slippery core. 

“Fuck, Shawn. Yes!” she cried as I bucked my hips and slipped in deeper.

“Shit, you’re fucking tight.”

“Fuck Shawn, you’re so big.” She whimpered at the pleasure pain she was feeling. 

I slowed down my moves as I kissed the top of her ass carefully while she adjusted herself to my cock. She used a few slow thrust to get used to the feeling of my cock inside her.  

“Better?”  

“Much.” 

I started moving in and out of her again, slowly at first then adding more speed to the pace of my thrusts. My hands gripped tightly around her inner thighs as I pushed her to meet my slams, wanting to fill out as much of her as possible.  

“Harder, Shawn. I can handle harder.” She moaned, her head tilting back to look my way. 

Her face was red, pearls of sweat where sticking to her forehead and her mouth was gaping wide open. 

She was insanely beautiful; even with messy hair, falling into her eyes, sweat dripping down her naked body and those red cheeks.

My eyes lingered at her for a couple of seconds as I felt my heart increase slightly. I let my hand slide up and down her bare back as a smile escaped from her heated face. 

“You’re just so fucking breath-taking.” I told her, biting into my bottom lip. 

After spending a couple of seconds admiring her body, I remembered her begging words and picked up the pace. Her entire body moved as I fucked her roughly from behind, her boobs bouncing, her ass vibrating, her thighs trembling. 

I forced my hand under her stomach and used my thumb to add more pleasure to her high as I continued to fuck her roughly. Arching her back, I heard a few swear words slipped from her panting mouth as her entire body began to shake. 

I felt her pussy tightly around my cock, slipping perfectly along to my slams as we shared a groan whenever I hit all the right spots inside her. 

“Fuck, Shawn. I ca-can’t much longer.” She cried out as I filled her out perfectly.  

I pushed myself as deep into her as possible and then I stopped moving. I attached my mouth to her the curve of her ass, kissing her lower back as I twisted and turned my cock inside of her. 

I leaned back to sit on the bed as she followed along and was now sitting on my lap with her back towards my chest. Her hands reached back and she forced her fingers roughly into my hair to tug my head to the side. 

My hands moved to her chest and my palms covered her boobs entirely as she began moving again. Throwing my head back, I felt her ass move against my thighs as she picked up the pace and left me whimpering. 

“Fuck, I’m about to cum.” I cried in her ear, attaching my lips to her sticky neck.

She placed both her hands on my thighs, riding me harder and faster and I felt her entire body bounce from her quick yet rough movements on my cock. As she cracked her hips slightly, we both reached our bursting point. 

Riding our high, her fingernails dug desperately into my thighs and sent a pain through my body. 

“God Shawn.” She moaned as I released inside of her in a loud groan. 

I pushed her head to the side and exposed her lips to mine. Attaching them together and panting into each other’s mouth, I felt my load drip from her wet and well-fucked pussy. 

It forced a smile to appear on my lips. 

Riding the last of our orgasms, we both collapsed on the bed beside each other; eyes shut, hearts pounding and gasping desperately for air. I spend a few minutes gaining back somewhat strength to open my eyes again. 

She was lying beside me, her hair sticking to her neck and her body fully exposed to my eyes. She was covered in hickeys from my mouth wandering wild and trails from my nails digging into her skin. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

I let my fingers stroke her damp cheek as she opened her tired eyes and looked at mine. A tiny but exhausted smile ran across her lips. She kissed the tip of my finger as it ran over her trembling mouth. 

“Can you believe this actually happened?” I asked her. 

“Not really. I feel like I’ve been giving you signs for years and… nothing.” She laughed back, shaking her head lightly. 

“I know.” I leaned forwards to kiss her warm lips. “You know I need to rethink everything at least a hundred times.” 

“Well, I’m glad you finally came around then.” She joked as her fingers brushed my arm. Her eyes flickered around the room as she bit her bottom lip. 

“What?” I asked her, lifting her chin with my thumb to meet her stare. 

“Do you regret it?” She asked and my heart dropped to my guts. 

I lowered my head to allow my nose tip to stroke her cheek softly while my hands searched for hers underneath the covers. I wrapped my fingers around hers and let my thumb stroke her knuckles. I nipped to her lips a few times before finding her stare again. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. For you.” I told her as I moved my head closer to her face. “There’s no way I could ever regret this.”

I stared into her eyes as I leaned towards her and kissed her naked shoulder, my fingers still wrapped around hers. My nose brushed lightly back and forth her sweaty skin as my mouth planted a few sweet kisses on her chest.

“Me either.” She whispered back, shyly. 

I had never seen her like this before – completely emotionally exposed - but I liked that she finally let down her guards. She usually never did. 

We stared at each other for a while, embracing and stroking each other, our lips nipping to each other once in a while.

“Shawn?” 

“Yeah?”  

“Say it first.” 

“What?”

“Can you say it first?” She asked me. “I need to hear you say it first. If you actually do, then say it first.”

I tilted my head towards her as I took in the expression on her sweaty still heated face. Her eyes gave her away within seconds and I suddenly understood her strange outburst. 

“You know I do, right? I always have.” 

I knew she had been burned before, I’ve watched her fall apart in front of me, but I wasn’t aware of how much pain it - apparently - had cost her. How deep the scars had apparently cut into her. 

“I guess, I just need to hear you say it...”

“I’m crazy about you. I always have been. I want to be with you, y/n.” I told her, my fingers removing tots of messy hair from her face. “And I won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

The relief on her face from hearting those words made a slight nag appear in my chest. The fact that she needed to hear me promise her, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, meant she had been burned badly before. 

Someone had left obvious traces on her heart that she was still trying to somehow mend. I wondered how anyone could ever hurt something as beautiful as her. 

“I want to be with you too, Shawn” she smiled back to me. “I think I’ve always just loved you.”

And though I had always seen her as the bold one, I knew she was risking her heart by saying those words aloud to me. And in that moment, I realised, she had never given those words to anyone but me. She had saved those words for me and I had saved them for her. Entirely. 

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction

[rodger-that-studios]

My Top 20 Albums of All Time

Before The Storm, part 1 of 2

A top 20? (that should be, part one of a top twenty, so a top ten? yeah?)

Wow, how original.

I can practically hear your anguished cries.

Maybe so.

“There certainly haven’t been approximately 417.803 of those published since last Friday”

But sit down and strap in. This one’s a doozy.

Before we start, let me add that you don’t have to love these albums as much as I do, but trust me, arrogant as this sounds, you’re going to want to check them out.

To that you’re obviously crying out “You don’t know me!”

It doesn’t matter. Don’t have to.

These albums changed my life, so without further ado, lets get started. Are you sitting comfortably?

The Final (ish) Countdown (Albums 20-11)

20 – Tapestry – Carole King (1971)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQXY8zwQgmc

It’s a beauty

Let’s start as we mean to go on.

Presented here is one of the first songs I ever remember ‘freaking out’ to. To clarify, I mean that amazing, goosebumps inducing effect that music can have on you.

The ‘whoa’ moment, if you will.

That song is the immortal Natural Woman from this seminal album. It’s also a family favourite. Maybe we’ll never know if it was written for one James Taylor (who might make an appearance later on) but frankly, who cares. This is a beautiful record.

19 – Curtain Call: The Hits – Eminem (2005)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Yhyp-_hX2s

Eminem is angry about…everything

Blimey. A Rap album as early as this?

Guess I’m full of surprises.

I’m no Eminem ‘fan’, but this one is special. There’s a swagger to this album that never fails to make me feel a thousand feet tall. Slim Shady exploded onto the scene with classic after satirical classic. Lose Yourself is outstanding, as is the insanity and genuine comedy of My Name Is. I think we all know what his name is now. Mic drop.

18 – A/B – Kaleo (2016)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8

People from Iceland frighten me

This one is by far the youngest album on our list. But if I had to describe the debut for Kaleo, an imposing bunch of vikings (er, Icelanders) led by the incredibly talented Jökull Júlíusson (ridiculous name alert) in a few words, ‘ass kicking masterpiece’ comes to mind.

The band have gone from strength to strength since they dropped this monster in June 2016, thanks in large part to the lead single from A/B, Way Down We Go. It’s hauntingly beautiful and stays with you long after its finished. Another highlight is the albums opening track, No Good, which is a rip roaring way for the band to say hello. It’s absolutely filthy, but oh so fantastic.

17 – The Cult – Pure Cult (The Singles) 1984-1985) – 2000

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCOSPtyZAPA

Drum Fill Drum Fill Drum FILLLLLL

An absolute riot of an album.

It’s frankly ludicrous for a band to release a singles anthology that lasts for 77 bloody minutes, but The Cult are that good.

Prick up your ears for Rain and She Sells Sanctuary, which are definite stand outs. Rain batters against your eardrums with screaming guitars, while Sanctuary shifts the focus onto the drums. The song only contains a handful of lyrics, but one listen to the drum fill before the final chorus will make you understand why. Some songs speak for themselves.

16 – Greatest Hits – Simon And Garfunkel – 1972

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-JQ1q-13Ek

This one has stayed with me because I still remember the first listen to this album.

I was sat in my Grandma’s lounge. Family have always played a part in the albums I’ve carried into adulthood. It didn’t take me long to learn why she loves these two. This album will make you cry, make you cheer and everything in-between.

The best albums tell stories, and ones told by this ’72 collection like The Boxer and Bridge Over Troubled Water will live for a very long time.

Gorgeous stuff.

15 – Where The Light Is, John Mayer Live in LA – 2008

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7K2DQ8XBRbU

Smooooooooth Mr Mayer

The following descriptions accurately describe Mr John Mayer;

Guitar Prodigy

Remarkable Songwriter

Harmonic Whizkid

Arrogant Arsehole

Okay, okay. I’ll explain why.

Mayer’s ego may be bigger than his stacked discography, but sadly it’s for a very good reason. The man is a modern musical artist, and doesn’t he know it.

But this album makes it okay, and here’s why.

Mayer played a one off sold out show in the Nokia Theatre in his home town of LA back in ’08, playing hits straight out of his strange little head to a sea of adoring fans.

It was an elegant affair, with Mayer and his touring band taking centre stage for almost three hours worth of jazz and blues. Indeed the sense of rhythm, melody and especially harmony on hits like Daughters, In Your Atmosphere and Gravity (which Johnny boy performs here with a full gospel choir) is absolutely stunning. A personal highlight is his incredible arrangement of Tom Petty’s Free Fallin’(RIP Tom we love you), which leaves me speechless every single time. Overalll Mayer offers a soaring and beautiful album which is perhaps the most intimate and honest thing he’s ever written.

And remember, all thats coming from the dude that wrote Your Body is a Wonderland. Damn smooth.

14 – Vessel – Twenty One Pilots – 2013

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szp9x1ZlZn4

Kick Some Ass lads

Twenty One Pilots needed something big to break onto the international scene. The rock duo had already amassed a huge following in the good old US of A, but Europe was a different beast. And with Vessel they knocked it out of the park.

Hits from this album introduced Tyler Joseph and Josh Dunn to the world. Joseph flip flops between sonorous masterclasses and rapping like a demon while Dunn channels the greats behind the kit. Copeland, Moon, Rich. The gang’s all here, and its as if they’re controlling Dunn’s arms and telling his brain what to do like the plot from a terrible 80s horror movie.

It is indeed a rip rollicking tour de force of an album. Migrane will make you think, Guns for Hands (bloody ridiculous song title) will make you groove, and my personal favourite here, Trees, will make you grit your teeth and maybe even shed a few tears, an entire spectrum of feelings is contained to 12 songs.

How many other bands can do that?

Put simply, check this one out. It’s remarkable.

13 – Celebrity Skin – Hole – 1998

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0CYB5V9e64

Tears you to pieces

Lets summarise the short lived story of Hole, shall we?

In equal parts the tortured love child of Courtney Love and Courtney Love’s grief over the terrible loss of Kurt Cobain, Hole created a very special album.

Love and Cobain were of course famously writing countless songs together before he died, and many of them would, in one way or another, make up the famous track list offered here. Heartbreak can often create strangely beautiful things, and Celebrity Skin is the epitome of that.

From the first second you can feel Love’s fury at society. Thats why it works, because its as relevant to hate the world today as it was back in ’98. To that end, honestly the album’s title track is, in a word, aggressive. Listening to it really puts you into her head. It’s as if someone took a confetti cannon, filled it with that typical 90s neon-soaked angst and rage and then fired it point blank into your face.

CAN YOU FEEL IT YET?

Okay calm down.

Don’t know what came over me there.

But then come back to earth and pair track one with the other clear stand out, Malibu. This song is effortlessly haunting and heartbreakingly beautiful. The listener is oblivious to what the lyrics warn them of running away from, but we somehow know we just need to listen to the warning. Perhaps this song was written for Kurt and he will tragically never know, but we’ll know and this song, indeed this album, will tear you apart and stay with you forever.

12 – What’s The Story Morning Glory – Oasis – 1995

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tI-5uv4wryI

Liam Gallagher looks like he’s wearing handcuffs every time he sings. Don’t believe me? Watch and learn

Oasis have been a part of my life for pretty much as long as I can remember.

We had them on perpetually when I was growing up, and I remember the first time my Dad introduced me to the standout song on this album full of standout songs, Champagne Supernova.

“Kid!”

“Yeah?”

“Check out this tune!”

Plays Supernova in our living room

It’s incredible, yes, but there’s only one question I have when the song fades.

“But Dad, what even is a Champagne Supernova?”

“Shut up Will, it’s ironic.”

leaves

One listen was all it took.

While the also classic Heathen Chemistry perhaps hit me more upon first impressions, as I’ve grown up my love for this album has positively skyrocketed. Although I still have a soft spot for Little By Little, one of the first songs I ever learned on guitar.

God these are the useless facts I know you want out of a musical countdown.

What’s The Story is special, though. It’s a special, perfectly Brit-Pop record. For me at least, songs like Some Might Say, She’s Electric and the aforementioned alcoholic death of a star have gotten me through some incredibly tough times. I look fondly back at the album now and remember nights in, up to my neck in GCSE revision with one of those terrible bedside lamps, which made it look like I was doing Algebra in Gollum’s cave. I’d whack on this record and all the stress would go away for a few glorious moments. It was almost fun to work stuff out with Noel Liam and the rest of the lads screaming down my earholes. It somehow made it okay.

Champagne Supernova, though, as you’ve probably guessed, is simply something else. Of course it lasts for seven minutes, but every second is captivating. Its an untouchable song, and an awesome album.

11 – Appetite For Destruction – Guns N Roses – 1987

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gORKiQ0h1ZA

Fuck Yeah

This one is simply the motherfucking king of debut albums.

Guns N Roses redefined sweet rock and roll with this album, and it was the first thing they ever released. Since it was released back in ’87 the album has rocked up (not sorry about the pun) 28 Million album sales. Numbers like that don’t lie. So here’s my take on one of the greatest rock albums of all time.

Standout one is the opening track, Welcome To The Jungle

Literally.

This song, despite being track one, is a dark horse, but I don’t know how much that means when your album is made up of majestic stallions. Guns N Roses collectively smash down your defences and musically kick the shit out of you with outstanding guitar and pounding drums. But don’t worry its all executed so beautifully you’ll probably stand yourself up dust yourself off, say thank you and dive straight back in. Trust me you ain’t seen nothing yet.

We continue with Paradise City. Its safe to say that Axl Rose Slash and company do not pull punches. This is one of the greatest guitar performances of all time. GNR present a sprawling 6 minute journey into madness, and you’re gonna want to be along for the ride. Prick up your ears for the closing solo, which is Slash at his most powerful. Slash is a god among men. Won’t take you long to discover why.

The third, and final (but not final) standout is the immortal Sweet Child O Mine

I’m already playing air guitar just thinking about this one and you are too don’t even lie.

If you were to open a Guns N Roses art museum, in which different songs became famous paintings, then Sweet Child O Mine is the ceiling of the Cistene fucking Chapel. it’s that good. Its many things. What do you want? A story about love? Yep, its there. A Stadium Anthem for the ages? Yeah no worries. A Masterpiece? I damn well think so. In fact thats the perfect description for Appetite for Destruction. Its a flawless album, indeed the spirit of sex drugs rock and roll in a CD case.

*takes breath*

Okay. Pause. Hit pause.

Christ on a bike.

I’ve been rambling for EVER.

Listen hard to these ten, and strap in for part 2

#carole king #eminem #guns n roses #oasis #hole #twenty one pilots #john mayer #kaleo #simon and garfunkel #the cult

[northcountryprimitive]

The North Country Primer # 3: William Csorba, Houston, TX

Originally published at North Country Primitive in March 2015

Here we are with another edition of the North Country Primer. This time it's the turn of Texan guitarist, William Csorba, whose recent album, The Bear Creek Child Cemetery, has been getting a lot of ear time here at North Country Primitive. Our thanks go out to William for his illuminating responses to our not always illuminating questions...

Tell us a bit about yourself and the musical journey that took you to a place where you concluded that playing an acoustic guitar on your own was a good idea... Well, for the most part, playing music by myself is the only way I’ve ever played music. I grew up largely on the country music I heard from my mom as a kid. My family has really deep Texas roots on my mom’s side, going back to the time when Texas was an independent nation. I’ve always been really aware of and fascinated by that sort of thing and I think my taste in music has been influenced similarly. I listened to a lot of Texas country music early on - guys like Jerry Jeff Walker, Waylon Jennings and Guy Clark, along with many of the greats of classic country music - Hank Williams above all, of course. So I guess a lot of the music I’ve been drawn to tends towards being a solo affair. The great Texan songwriter, Townes Van Zandt, was a pretty close relative of mine, even though I never had the opportunity to know him - I would have been very young at the time of his passing. It’s kind of funny, actually - I remember growing up and hearing that I had a cousin who “wrote songs for Willie Nelson,” which was simply based on the fact that Willie had done a rather popular cover of Pancho and Lefty and that Townes had never had the commercial success that some of those dudes enjoyed. First hearing some of Townes’ recordings years later was a rather momentous event for me. I was really blown away by them and I guess knowing that I had a connection with him by blood only heightened the profundity of his music for me. To me, he should be remembered not only as a master songwriter, but really as a substantial American poet. I first picked up a guitar pretty much because I wanted to play some of his songs - as well as some Hank Williams songs. I soon recognised that I wasn’t that interested in singing, especially since I didn’t seem to have much of a talent for it. Anyway, through Townes I encountered the hometown blues legend Lightnin’ Hopkins, who he cited as a big influence, which led me to the world of pre-war blues and hillbilly music. This became something of an obsession around the time I went to college six years back. While I was at school out in New Mexico, I fell in with a group of friends who were real into old blues and old-time music. My roommate and good friend that first year, a guy named Michael Laudenbach, played fingerstyle guitar quite well and I made him teach me some of the basics of that kind of playing, with tunes picked up from Elizabeth Cotton, the Carter Family and some other similar stuff. He also introduced me to John Fahey, who, as it must surely come as no surprise, was my inspiration for getting pretty serious about music and on whom I felt compelled to model an approach to begin trying to make some music of my own. To me, Fahey is in many ways the consummate American artist. Aside from the particulars of his work and aesthetic, the most important and compelling significance for me lies in borrowing a method from him as a starting point for a way of doing serious music. In other words, the really decisive thing I got from Fahey was a novel philosophy for composing and art-making in general. This philosophy resonated strongly with me in so many ways, although it was of course the music itself that first got my attention. I wouldn’t even say that the guitar - specifically the solo guitar format he championed - was an absolutely essential element of what I interpret to be his artistic philosophy, but I would definitely say that it undoubtedly fits into it and cultivates this approach better than anything else I can come up with. And since I was already somewhat under the spell of the instrument, it seemed to be a pretty obvious direction for me to go in. What has influenced your music and why? As far as strictly musical influences go, in addition to the spectrum of stuff I’ve already suggested, I’ve always been pretty hugely into classical music - or formal music, if you like - more or less of all kinds and from all periods. There was a fantastic class I took in college, which I can best describe as a sort of survey of Western music. It was far more than simply an overviewt really allowed me to work out a lot of my thoughts and feelings about music and to grow significantly in the art of listening, which I feel to be one of the most important things for becoming a good musician. So, I have definitely gotten a lot of inspiration from many of the classical composers and also from some of the older traditions that play into the Western musical tradition. Perhaps my most important and primal musical influence is the church and sacred music. For me, this originally comes from having been brought up in the southern Baptist Church. Probably the greatest virtue of the southern Baptist denomination is in its hymnal, which is largely composed of strongly American-feeling melodies, mostly from the latter half of the 19th century. This differs from some of the other denominations that preserve and emphasise a lot more an older generation of hymns originating from Europe. My very strong, unhappy reaction to the disaster of the crappy contemporary worship music that was beginning to replace the traditional hymns sung in church while I was growing up is probably worth mentioning as well. Different kinds of world music have also definitely been a big interest for some time, especially after encountering the sounds of India when a friend and I spent a good bit time over there after graduating from high school. I like and listen to a lot of other kinds of music, but it’s hard to say what has really had an actual influence on the music I’ve been making, but there are probably many little bits of things from all over the place that come into it, if you know what I mean. Speaking more generally, I actually came to understand music as something I wanted to do by way of my studies in philosophy and literature. At an even more basic level, I’d say that music has come to occupy a place for me previously chiefly held by more explicitly religious concerns. My relationship to music definitely has a strong religious dimension, which I would say is right at the centre of what I’m trying to do with it. To put it more concretely, a lot what inspires me often comes from a desire, or maybe a need, to express various reflections on personal history, particular places and landscapes that have stuck with me and the diverse emotional states that make up the inner life. In addition to sometimes just going off of a kernel of what I’m feeling at a particular time, simply, I often try to write music while holding in mind certain mental images or memories - sometimes including, for instance, a feeling for the earth itself in a place I’ve been before, if that makes any sense. You know, like nature and stuff, although I’m not confident that’s quite my meaning exactly. I think what I’m trying to get at comes through most perspicuously in the first recording efforts I made last summer with an album I called The Bear Creek Child Cemetery, which is probably why it’s still my favorite thing I’ve made so far. What have you been up to recently? Well, I’m still in school, so I’m doing that stuff. But mostly my real preoccupation these days is, as much as possible, with the music - trying to write music and get better at composing. I’m also just starting to play out in public some lately, which is a lot of fun and pretty challenging. What are you listening to right now, old or new? Any recommendations you’d like to share with us? The first thing that comes to mind right now is that guy Abner Jay, who I listen to quite a lot. If you’re not familiar with him you got to check it out. The dude was a genius, and I don’t say that easily. I feel like he deserves a lot more recognition than he has probably gotten. I’ve got a CD in my car right now of some of Bartok’s piano music, which is pretty great. I’ve also been on a bit of a Brahms kick recently: the violin concerto, which is pretty new to me, but also the piano concertos and symphonies, which I’ve always really dug - especially the 3rd. I always have a healthy dose of old-time music going on at any given time. I guess that’s just like an essential nutrient or something at this point. I’ve been listening a bunch to this clawhammer banjo album by a guy I knew from New Mexico named Ariel Winnick. He’s a fantastic player. The album’s called Glory Beams and can be found on the web. I’d definitely recommend it, especially to folks already into old-time music and such. I should also mention that I’ve been checking out a lot of other the guitarists who I’ve been finding out about since I started trying to get my music out there over the past several months. I had no idea how many great players there are out there nowadays doing this kind of thing. Specifically, just to name a couple things I’ve come upon recently, I really like Chuck Johnson’s album Crows in the Basilica, which I’ve been listening to a lot. I’ve also got to mention that dude Daniel Bachman. I was super impressed by him when I first heard him sometime this past year and it still hasn’t worn off a bit - his playing really resonates with me. But yeah, it’s been really fun and, I guess, encouraging in a way, to check out all these similarly-minded musicians that are now coming to my attention. Oh, and because I just thought of it, that Irish guy Cian Nugent. The other day I listened to a pair of his pieces called Grass Above My Head and My War Blues. I really enjoyed those a lot. The guitar nerd bit: what guitars do you play and what do you like about them? Is there anything out there you’re coveting? I am honestly pretty ignorant when it comes to guitars and whatnot. I play a Johnson guitar, OM size, I think, which I bought off a friend a few years back. It’s not a particularly nice instrument or anything, but it works good and I like it a lot. It’s got a nice, pretty wide fretboard and the neck has a sort of v-shaped cut, which I really like the feel of. Maybe it’s just that I’ve gotten real comfortable with the thing. I like the size of it too. I’m not sure I’m really coveting anything, maybe just because I am not particularly aware of what’s out there, but I would really like to have one of those big, loud Martin Dreadnoughts one day. I’ve played some of those before and they felt and sounded really great. Banjos: yes or no? Oh yes. Personally, I love the banjo. As I actually already mentioned, when I lived in New Mexico there was a really great clawhammer player named Ariel Winnick at my school and I was just totally mesmerized by his playing. It made such an impression on me that I felt that I had to learn how to do it, so I began to pick it up. I still fool around and play fiddle tunes and stuff on the thing all the time. I’ve also always been a huge sucker for that classic hard-driving bluegrass banjo sound. There’s something marvelous about that relentless, cascading sound you get in really good Scruggs-style picking. I really could go on and on about banjos. They’re weird and American and really very attractive to me all round. What’s that Mark Twain quote about banjos? Something about smashing pianos and taking up instead the “glory beaming banjo.” What are you planning to do next? Well, I want to try to make another solo guitar record in the near future, but I want to try to take more time with it than I have with most of my releases so far. I feel like I want to work more deliberately on some much more fine-tuned composition. I also want to get better production values with the recording and get it sounding real nice. I’ve also been trying to start playing publicly a lot more and give that a shot. This means that I’m trying to pull together a more fully worked out repertoire of my songs - most of the stuff I’ve written and recorded over the past while, I haven’t really committed to memory. Oh, and I’ve actually been trying to work out some music to play with another musician I know, which is a lot fun and different for me. What should we have asked you and didn’t? Hmm… I don’t know. These have been very good, wide-ranging questions that have allowed me to talk about a lot of things that I like to talk about. I really appreciate the opportunity to reflect on these topics and share some of my thoughts. And forgive me if I went on and on a bit much - it’s hard to keep it brief when responding to questions like these.

You can find more of William Csorba's music, including his compact disc, The Bear Creek Child Cemetery, at his Bandcamp page. 

#will csorba #american primitive

[kootenaygoon]

So,

It was way past midnight, and I didn’t want to be awake anymore.

A crowd of us had migrated from the Hume Hotel to a dank, freezing cold foyer inside the vacant Chinese Medicine School. A block down from the courthouse, it was built at the precipice of a hill and featured a wrap-around balcony that looked out at Elephant Mountain. It had Eastern-themed trappings and some nice stonework, but it was looking increasingly more derelict every day. I’d never actually been inside it before, but some dude in Aladdin pants told us he owned it. Living in Nelson I repeatedly found myself in idiosyncratic situations like this, witnessing scenes I couldn’t imagine going down anywhere else. There were at least three distinct bands in the room, and musicians know how to party properly.

Snow was gusting down outside, and there was no heating system, so you could see everyone’s breath as they milled around gossiping. At the centre of the room two women were playing a game of Strip Ping Pong. One was down to her bra and panties, while the other was still in a hoodie and jeans. I could see the pink goose pimples on the near-nude one’s stomach, and wondered for a moment how she was coping with the cold, and then I remembered: everyone’s on drugs. 

Really, I was just waiting for Paisley to come home with me. We’d been partying an unusual amount for the past few weeks and I was getting disillusioned with the whole scene. When I first arrived in the Kootenays I adopted a “When in Rome” mindset on the topic of dabbling with new things, but really I was satisfied with cannabis and a nice comfy home life. That being said, I seemed to be incapable of saying no in the moment and I’d developed a reputation as a black hole for drugs. Certain ones just didn’t seem to have an effect on me, or at least not an obvious one. I could shovel back coke, MDMA, mushrooms and acid, then still maintain a coherent conversation. People were baffled by it, but I found it annoying. It was like I couldn’t self-destruct, no matter how hard I tried.

As I pondered this, Ryan Tapp sunk into the chair beside me and threw his arm around my shoulder. He was wearing a feather boa.

“You’re being anti-social again. Why are you sitting here freezing your ass off when you could be talking to somebody? Do you see Paisley moping around?”

“I’ve already accomplished everything I wanted to socially tonight.”

He snickered, then echoed the words back at me. “You don’t even know half of these people. You spend too much time in your head, man. Especially when you’re high.”

“I don’t think I’m that high.”

“Sometimes I think you’re the most self-aware person in the world, and sometimes I think you’re dense as a stone. Come on, man. You’re talking to a dead person.”

“You keep reminding me.”

Despite all my debauchery, over the previous few months I’d somehow motivated myself to make a number of power moves in town. Having decided that I had my reporter gig mastered, I decided to expand into new arenas — I’d been appointed to a sub-committee of city council focused on culture and the arts, been named to an advisory board for the creative writing program at Selkirk College, and gotten myself cast in the chorus of the upcoming musical Rock of Ages. My feud with the Carpenters was at a low simmer, and I was determined to escalate my public profile as much as possible to keep them in check. I figured that was my best defence, because who wants to fire the fun-loving reporter everybody saw singing 80s tunes on stage? They were already villains in town, and their image couldn’t take much more damage. I was like a loaded shotgun, waiting for somebody to pick me up.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Andrew Stevenson lately,” I told Ryan, tipping back my beer and taking a deep swallow. “If you read the Star story my co-worker Ed wrote, it says all those fucking robberies were all fuelled by his addiction.”

“Oxycontin ain’t cheap.”

I shook my head. “The guy was in pain, arthritis or something. And desperate. I mean, what would you do in that situation? He had a bunch of kids to feed, at our age. What would you do?”

“Yeah, but he still had the power to choose. And he made the wrong choice.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ryan took a deep breath, then began to preach. “Everyone’s talking about harm reduction these days, like drug abuse is this perennial inevitability, but the fact is everyone still has a choice. We all have agency in this life, power over our own decision-making.”

“But it’s more complicated than that. A lot of people are dealing with childhood trauma, issues we couldn’t even imagine.”

“Okay, but really? Who doesn’t have some sort of trauma?”

It was right around then I realized that I didn’t know where Paisley was. She’d disappeared from the circle of friends she’d been standing with a moment before, and she was nowhere in the room. Did she go outside to smoke a joint? Ryan evaporated as I struggled into a standing position. The floor beneath me rippled, like I was standing on the surface of the ocean, and that energy moved up through my body and beamed out my eyes. Like Cyclops from the X-men. I gave my head a shake.

“You seen Paisley?” I asked my friend Josh. “Did you see where she went?”

“I thought she was with Caelynn, man.”

“She might be in that back bathroom over there,” Josh’s wife Julie said, pointing. “I think I saw some people going in there.”

Paisley didn’t typically need to be babysat, but lately she’d been starting to worry me. Like me, she’d been making some uncharacteristic choices. Nelson just seemed to have that effect on people — it made you explore outside your comfort zone, which was good, but sometimes you can travel a little too far. Without a baseline of normalcy, how are you supposed to ascertain if you’re being strange or scary? Compared to who? I pushed through some bodies, maybe a little too roughly, as I made my way past the ping pong table and through a doorway to a dimly lit hallway with a tile floor. Was the bathroom Julie mentioned back here somewhere? Or was it somewhere else? Frustrated, I turned in a circle and blinked at my feet. Then I heard voices.

The bathroom was just to my left, and the door wasn’t locked. I turned the handle and swung it open, hitting somebody in the elbow, then squeezed through the gap. There were at least eight people inside, though it only had one urinal and a small stall for a toilet. On the opposite wall were two sinks, and when I glanced over I saw Paisley sitting on one. She wasn’t wearing her shirt, her eyes were closed, and some guy was looming Gollum-like over her. For a moment he looked like a legit vampire, like he was plunging his fangs into her neck, and before that could happen I yanked back hard on his T-shirt and slammed him against the stall. 

I palmed his throat, my nostrils flaring. “I don’t want to see you again, understand? You get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.”

He nodded feebly, his hands up in surrender. “I’m gone, man.”

Once the guy disappeared I found Paisley’s shirt balled up on the ground and helped her put it on. Her eyes were closed and she murmured incoherently. Around me the other bathroom-dwellers returned to their pot smoking. Inside the stall at least two people were having sex. I took Paisley’s clammy face in my hands and tried to get her eyes open.

“Paisley, baby. We gotta go home, okay? Can you wake up?”

Eventually I hauled her to her feet, and she murmured into my neck as we dragged ourselves back through the main room. A few people turned to stare at me, but I ignored them. Everyone seemed to be putting on their coats and getting ready to go. Julie and Kate came over to see if Paisley was okay, and I asked if anyone had seen where she left her jacket. A few friends quickly searched, but it was nowhere to be found.

“We’re going to a hot tub party out at Six Mile,” Julie said. “If you guys want to come.”

“I’ve got to get her home to bed,” I said. “I don’t know what she took, but she’s completely out of it.”

“Well, take care of her.”

Eventually I decided to wrap my winter coat around Paisley, sitting her down so I could zip it up. I had a warm plaid on, and it was only three blocks back to our house. Somehow the whole building had emptied over the course of five minutes, everyone tromping off in the snow, and suddenly I found myself alone with Paisley in the dark. Streetlights illuminated the flurries in the distance as flakes melted down my face and collected in my beard. There was no way taxis were out in this weather, and my phone was dead anyways. I was going to have to hike. I pulled Paisley’s arms over my shoulders and leaned forward, pulling her into an uncomfortable piggy back position. 

After two blocks I stopped, sinking to my knees in the snow. Paisley slipped off my back and rolled to the sidewalk. I couldn’t tell if it was real tears streaming down my face, but either way I was heaving like a post-race marathon runner. I had to admit it, we were in real danger. People died like this.

“Everything is fake,” Paisley muttered. “You can’t even stop it.”

Paisley looked like a painting. Her Betty Boop eyelashes were collecting tiny drops of moisture, and her exposed skin was the colour of 2% milk. We’d been together for over four years, but her beauty could still routinely surprise me. She’d told me once, half-joking, that she liked me best when I was sleeping. The truth was that I felt the same way. Seeing her laying vulnerable and lost on the sidewalk I knew two things at once: I was hopelessly in love with her, and there was no way this was going to work out long term. I reached out and touched her face, pressed my lips against hers.

“Baby,” I said. “I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

The Kootenay Goon 

[writing-in-riverdale]

famous sister | riverdale x reader

request

written by: yours truly

edited by: @jugheadxreaderinyourhead

anonymous said: can you do one famous reader a singer and she’s at riverdale her last tour stop she goes home to surprise her brother archie but he has friends over. In riverdale people are huge fans of hers, left with her mom at a young age and people are surprised that she’s related to him and can you scene with josie and the pussycats freaking out or them performing a song for her.

chapter song: one last time // ariana grande

a/n: i chose queen ari to fill this because she’s queen and i love her, so all the songs she sings automatically are the readers blah blah you get the jist right?

✿

you smile as you drive past the riverdale welcome sign, your stomach churning in anticipation. tonight was your last stop of your tour before you had a break and it was somewhat of a home coming for you.

you’d lived here when you were younger for a brief period before your mother whisked you away from your father and your brother, and that’s when your career was born.

your final show was here in the heart of riverdale and you’d decided to surprise your younger brother and your father by dropping by the house before your show.

your car pulled up in front of the familiar house. “thank you” you smile slipping out of the car as you glance up at your childhood home.

flashbacks of you and your brother playing out in the front yard all those years ago. he was a few years younger than you but that didn’t stop him from acting like a protective older brother.

even though you only a handful of people know your connection to the small town boy - if the media found out, his whole life would be flipped on it’s head, thank you paparazzi.

your heels click on the pavement as you moved toward the door, taking in a deep breathe of confidence before leaving a soft knock on the wooden door.

the door swing open and revealed your dad “y/n!-” you place your hand over his mouth widening your eyes as he almost blows your cover. you place a finger up to your mouth indicating him to be quite before removing your hand.

he moves aside and lets you in. your shoes echoing on the wooden floor, the tv is turned up way too loud as a movie plays in the front room, the closer you get the more you noticed more than one warm body.

“he has friends over?” you whisper to your dad and he shrugs. “he won’t mind” he plants a kiss on your forehead before disappearing back into his office.

you walk toward the dimly lit room leaning against the door frame “you’re watching avengers without me? god archibald how long have i been gone and you’re already watching marvel movies without me?”

a smirk grows on your face as your brother sits up, untangling himself from a pretty raven haired girl, his jaw dropping.

“this is the part when you tell me you missed me and you come give me a hug” within seconds he was up on his feet taking long strides toward you lifting you up off the carpet.

spinning you around like a mad man, you let a laugh fall from your lips as he places you back down on the ground tackling you in a huge hug.

“why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” he exclaims glancing back at his friends.

“i wanted to surprise you, i have a gig tonight and i wanted to pop in and say hi- plus i have to come check up on my little brother every once in a while” you tease ruffling his hair.

“so are you going to introduce me to your friends?” you nudge his shoulder snapping him from his happy gaze.

“of course this is…ronnie my girlfriend, and then there’s jughead, betty, kevin and reggie- guys this is my sister y/n l/n”.

“oh my god” the raven haired girl murmurs covering her mouth “archie when were you going to tell me you were related to y/n freaking l/n!” she practically squeals.

“i’m veronica lodge, i’m a huge fan of yours!” you smile at her and then to your brother.

“i’ve heard a lot about you miss lodge, all good things, i promise” you reassure glancing to the other couple.

“betty and jughead?” they nod the blonde rushing forward “betty cooper- i’m in love with your music, “be alright” is like my all time favourite song” she rambles.

“cooper huh? as in chic’s little sister?” you laugh aloud.

she nods grinning “yeah that’s me, how do you know my brother? oh god he didn’t like stalk you in high school or something- oh my god i’m going to kill him” she mutters to herself.

you step forward placing your hands on her shoulder “i mean i guess he kinda did stalk me in high school” you admit laughing quietly to yourself, the girl in front of you instantly pailing in color.

“we dated, in high school babe. don’t stress he hasn’t embarrassed you” you reassure and the girl goes from relieved to confused.

“you dated my brother?” she questions a slight disgust to her voice. “hey he wasn’t that bad in high school, he was quite handsome actually” you wink.

“dude why didn’t you tell us you had a hot sister” you tilt your head to glance at the tall raven haired boy “reggie back off” archie defended you but you placed a hand on his chest.

“cool it andrews” the raven haired boy smirks at you “you are pretty hot i must admit, how old are you 16?” you joke.

he rolls back his shoulders “i’m 18 actually” you raise your eyebrows in surprise, they weren’t the little kids that you’d seen in photos archie had been sending you since your time apart.

“interesting” you muse gaining the raven headed boys excitement “how old are you?” he asks and you wince.

“never ask a girl how old she is” you smile sweetly.

“she’s 21 and not interested reg” archie continues to defend you.

“okay well anyways i have a show to get to” they all gawk as they fall under your spell.

“i have some tickets if you and your friends want to come watch arch. there’s a vip booth upstairs, pretty good view”. he nods frantically, the girls practically bowing at his feet.

“i’ll see you guys in a bit - oh and arch, bring the arm candy”. you winked placing a embarrassing kiss on your brothers cheek before exiting swiftly.

✿

you swung your hips to the beat as you sing along to your song, moving around the big stage as the crowd cheers and sings with you. the music growing louder as the crowd roars.

the song finishes and the crowd erupts in applause and screaming.

“we have time for one last song!” you yell into the mic the crowd growing loud, if that was even possible.

“but first i want to invite one of riverdales very own- josie and the pussycats! to help me sing this one”.

you watch as the girls in the booth with your brother hyperventilate walking down and then up onto the stage, rushing toward you for hugs.

“you guys know ‘one last time’ right?” they all nod as the stage hand rush on handing out mics for the three.

you walk to the centre of the stage queuing for the music to begin.

♬“i was a liar, i gave into the fire. i know i should’ve fought it, at least im being honest”♬

♬"feel like a failure, ‘cause i know that I failed you. i should’ve done you better 'cause you don’t want a liar"♬

♬" and I know, and I know, and I know she gives you everything but boy I couldn’t give it to you. and I know, and I know, and I know that you got everything, but I got nothing here without you"♬

♬"so one last time, i need to be the one who takes you home. one more time, i promise after that, i’ll let you go.“♬

♬"baby I don’t care if you got her in your heart, all I really care is you wake up in my arms. one last time, i need to be the one who takes you home.“♬

”thank you riverdale and goodnight!“

you rush off stage listening to josie ramble on about how much this means to her and the girls and you find yourself smiling before enveloping them in a huge hug.

you look up as your door to your dressing room opens revealing your brother and his group of friends

"you guys killed it and as much as i’d love to stay and chat i have some serious catching up to do with my little bro”

and with that you excuse yourself and rush over to your brother flinging yourself into his arms as they wrap around your waist tightly.

“you were awesome y/n/n” you smile

“oh i know” you tease ruffling up his hair

“celebratory pop’s?” betty suggest my brother grinning in agreement throwing an arm around shoulders

“lets go” you cheer following the crowd out the adrenaline wearing out of your body as you take further steps toward the diner

“so i was thinking, next tour maybe the archie’s could join me and maybe open?”

he throws his head back in laughter and shock “oh i don’t know about that one big sis- you don’t want to be out done on your own tour right?”

you scoff shoving your brother in the chest breaking away from his embrace

“id like to see you try archiebald”

“oh you will y/n”

tag list: @hauntedcherryblossombanana-blog @sadbreakfastclb @jugandbettsdetectiveagency @kindfloweroflove @fragilefrances @mydelightfulcollectiontyphoon @onceuponagladerhead @natalieroseg

#riverdale x reader #core four x reader #riverdale #archie andrews #betty cooper #jughead jones #veronica lodge #kevin keller #josie and the pussy cats

[punkscowardschampions]

Ali & Marlene

Ali: Hey babe, sorry I missed rehearsal, know you rocked it regardless  💋 Marlene: Kind of need our lead singer to do that. Instrumental wasn't the vision for the track, babygirl Marlene: Where did you have to be? We could've rescheduled Ali: I know, I know, my bad! Make it up to you Ali: Ugh, got detention, didn't I Ali: don't even get me started on that Marlene: Make it up to me alone or me and the band? Marlene: Little rebel Marlene: Can't have you getting in more trouble by ditching, can we? Marlene: I'll add in another rehearsal, the girls won't mind Ali: Why not both? Ali: Come over and I'll record the vocals for you Ali: You know it boo 👩🏼‍🎤 Ali: Exactly, even though I'm fully staging a protest tomorrow Marlene: That's my girl Marlene: I'll be there front and centre, lending my voice to the movement Ali: Aww, so supportive Ali: cute 😉 Ali: I've rallied all the usual suspects so it shouldn't be a flop Ali: we have the allotted hours, like, if they fail to control us in 'em, why add more, yeah? pointless, where's the logic Marlene: Making me so proud to have you on my arm Ali: As you should be Ali: Though that arms not bad 💪 Marlene: I wouldn't be the best bassist in this shithole if it was Ali: One track mind 😏 SUCH a bassist Ali: don't you ever break that focus? Marlene: It has been known Marlene: For the right girl Ali: Introduce me to her some time, yeah? Ali: Get some tips Marlene: You know her pretty well Marlene: The name's Alison, like the song Ali: So soft Ali: Still say we do a Elvis Costello and Dolly mashup Ali: idc what you say, Jolene is a bop and you need to own it Marlene: If I can hear you do an original Elvis cover, I'll think about it Ali: Fine, I'll happily sing about myself all day Ali: can even get the accent down, thanks Ma Marlene: I'll be waiting for that Marlene: The girls are asking if you need posters or anything else for the protest? Anything to stick around and drink more Ali: Patience, babe Ali: Gotta save these pipes for the protest Ali: Feel free to go for their lives, like Ali: Bear in mind if they use too many expletives, the School ain't gonna listen tho Ali: creative language, not colourful, ladies Marlene: No promises on getting them to dial back the reclaimed slurs Marlene: But we'll leave off calling the teachers the cunts they are Marlene: For you, our glorious leader Ali: 🙇 down Ali: I'll take it, they're not going to go anywhere near hate speech vibes, too risky Marlene: Tempting offer Marlene: I'll take you up on it when we're alone Ali: Yeah? Gonna skip rehearsal more often then Marlene: For revolution and no less, babe Marlene: But I have missed you Ali: The revolution's always rolling, babe Ali: I can't stop the wheels of change, you know Marlene: I know you want me to make a rock and roll pun Marlene: But I refuse Ali: Boooooo 👎 Ali: too punk for me now? Marlene: Not gonna quote a dead white man either, not even Lennon Marlene: You're still my little punk princess, you know Ali: Throw some Yoko craziness at me Ali: 👑 Marlene: Keeping it back so the protest won't flop. Can't let it Ali: Sure, you just don't wanna get on the rooftop with your mates Ali: someone'd fall, or get pushed 😂 Marlene: Not me or you Marlene: With these arms we're safe Ali: 🔫 pew pew Ali: they wanna try me, bitch Marlene: We should fill up supersoakers for those who are anti our message Marlene: Piss on their negativity in a literal sense Ali: not with actual piss, right? Marlene: You have to start thinking punk rock, babe Ali: I am not pissing into a supersoaker Ali: not dying to prove my aim is as good as a man's like Ali: you do you, babe but I'll leave it at good old fashioned water Marlene: Now who's deserving the boos and jeers Marlene: So regal of you Ali: what can i say? my idea of a good time isn't pissing on my own hands Ali: crazy, i know 😉 Marlene: How true my love is Marlene: Any time's a good time with my baby Ali: 💙 Ali: forreal tho, what are we doing this weekend Marlene: There are a few parties Ali: where Ali: i wanna go as far away as poss Marlene: They're local, usual suspects Marlene: We can do something else Ali: Think of something better, yeah Ali: I'm sick of the locals at the mo Marlene: I'll come back to you with a plan Ali: 💋 Ali: that's my girl Marlene: What am I good for if I can't take you away from this shithole? Marlene: Not like it's that hard Ali: You got your license, 'til I got mine I'm at your beck and call, like Ali: Your Ma will be cool, yeah? Doesn't need to be long, just long enough to breathe Marlene: I'll make a deal with her Marlene: Name drop you since she's a fan Ali: Such a parent pleaser 😇 Marlene: If you sang it she'd do anything you say Marlene: Thinks you've got the voice of an angel for sure Ali: Aww, what a babe Ali: like mother like daughter 😏 Marlene: She had her moments of hell raising Marlene: Would to this day if it was possible Ali: Imma ask her all about it when I see her Ali: fo'sho Marlene: That'd make her happy Ali: Who doesn't love being scandalous? Marlene: Whoever gave you detention Ali: Give you three guesses 😑 Marlene: I don't need them Marlene: Most are in your fan club too Ali: Exactly Ali: Don't teach R.S. if you can't handle healthy debate Marlene: Yeah. We live in Dublin not a dictatorship Ali: Honestly Ali: Some people really wanna take it back to the troubles Ali: Shouldn't have said as much but chill, dude Marlene: Freedom of speech, babe Marlene: I've lost count of how many teachers I've called homophobes Marlene: Gotta speak up Ali: True Ali: you are a bit quick on the draw sometimes, like Marlene: I'm not letting them get away with it Ali: Just sayin', plenty of reasons to give you dirty looks, babe, not all of 'em that you're gay 😜 Marlene: I'm a perfect gentleman and you know it Ali: True Ali: You don't look it tho Marlene: You don't look like a rebel queen Marlene: And yet Ali: I know looks are deceiving, tell it to the homophobes, babe 😏 Ali: also you gotta stop with the compliments 😾 Marlene: But everyone's clearing out. It's the perfect time to shower you with them Marlene: Where do you wanna be? Here or there Ali: When bae only sweet talks you when their mates aren't about Ali: SUCH a fuckboy, darling 💋 Marlene: You know what I was getting at, darling Marlene: We can be alone finally Marlene: But only if you're in the mood Ali: I'll come over Ali: as much as my Ma is also a fan, just yours like, not so much mine Marlene: Let me pick you up Marlene: It's too dark for that shit Ali: Nah, I wanna walk Ali: gotta burn off the energy I didn't get to rock out Marlene: Hold your keys since you won't take my knife off me Ali: Don't worry Ali: My Da beat you to the self-defense lesson, like Ali: I'm sweet Marlene: If I'm not there to protect you, I'm bound to worry Ali: You worry too much, baby Ali: Good thing I'm coming to take all your cares away Ali: and I've got bud, naturally 🚬 Marlene: And I hid some drinks from the vultures Ali: Party of two 😘 Marlene: When you get here. Until you do I'm sitting on the floor alone writing shitty songs about you Ali: Try and write a good one, will ya? Not having it bandied about that I'm a shit muse 😉 Ali: you could never Ali: gonna play for me when I get there? Marlene: Been trying since I met you, babygirl Marlene: It's not you, it's me Ali: Nah Ali: there's a hit in there, I just gotta try harder Ali: as you're so anti-establishment, your brain is noping on writing a bop that everyone will love Marlene: I want you to love it Marlene: You're the one it's for Ali: I'm excited to hear Ali: assuming I don't get shanked on the way by the big bad wolf Marlene: Your tragic early death isn't the inspiration I want or need Ali: Tell it to the TV writers, hun Ali: angry protest song #765 Marlene: I'll sing you my shitty song and you can die laughing Ali: Never Ali: cross my heart Marlene: And fingers that I can patch together a chorus that doesn't make me wanna die before you get here Ali: 🤞 Ali: I have faith enough for two Marlene: As an angel, you kind of have to bring it Ali: No pressure 😓 Marlene: I'm more than okay with you lacking it, stick it to your detention giver over again Marlene: And I love you, so forgiven most sins Ali: A benevolent Goddess you are Marlene: Modeled on the original lesbian in the sky Ali: Debated theology enough today to live and let live on that one babe Marlene: Promise I'll save the angry lesbian god essay recital for another night Ali: You're a doll 💋 Ali: Oh, hold up, I see my ex Ali: ready for this awkward convo in 3 2 Ali: brb Marlene: Bet you want me to pick you up now, don't you? Ali: [15 mins later] Ali: That was wild Marlene: What the fuck, Ali Marlene: I was about to start searching for you Ali: Soz, more chatty than I remember Ali: only gone at got someone pregnant hasn't he Marlene: Dodged a bullet Ali: Tell me about it Ali: Still out on the town tryna get some though Ali: is that the new come on? I'm fertile! Marlene: In this town, likely Marlene: Which ex is it? Ali: #4 good drugs, bad teeth Ali: the one who lowkey stalked me after and my brother had to smack him one Ali: good times, unexpected detour down memory lane there but got us some freebies so Marlene: It took 15 mins to get what you're owed, how long does he take over customers who aren't his stalked exes Marlene: bad business is what you should've called him Marlene: Or manners Ali: names are definitely open to workshopping Ali: he had to show me the scan pics, duh Marlene: Had to do the whole come on Marlene: fucking pig Ali: Bless Ali: have your fun whilst you still can, kid Marlene: not with my girlfriend Ali: don't worry babe, got the drugs for free free Ali: not suck my dick free Marlene: Are you gonna be here soon Marlene: I can still bring the car Ali: Yeah, I'll get a wriggle on Ali: 5 minutes if I run Marlene: If you don't run into any more exes first Ali: cities littered with 'em Marlene: If you didn't date men you could stay friends with them Ali: why would I wanna do that? Ali: I've seen your dyke drama, a no thank you Marlene: I don't have dyke drama Marlene: You're the one trying to avoid the awkward Ali: 😏 Ali: I don't care, its funny Ali: he wasn't that bad, really Ali: don't need to add every ex to my inner circle though, that's a madness Marlene: He stalked you Marlene: He's an asshole Ali: Not properly Ali: Just had issue letting go as fast as I did, who can blame him 😘 Marlene: It's not funny, Ali, it's fucked Ali: So serious 😾 Ali: It ain't like he locked me in his basement, I get to decide how fucked it was or wasn't Marlene: You get to brush it under the carpet too, doesn't make it right Ali: 🙄 you're as bad as my mother Marlene: maybe she's got a point Ali: Ugh, don't need to point score, she already likes ya, babe Ali: he's just a stupid kid, not fucking Bundy, yeah, let's chill Marlene: He doesn't have to be Bundy to be held accountable, babe Marlene: He's gonna be someone's dad Marlene: What the fuck Ali: for what? being a bit of a prick at 16 Ali: s'not a crime, last time I checked Marlene: it doesn't have to be Marlene: Lads think they can do whatever they want Marlene: They can't and shouldn't Ali: Nah, this isn't a soap box moment, babe Ali: we all do things we know are wrong, and ain't proud of Ali: 'cos of how we're feeling Ali: Honestly, not a big deal Ali: and not an exclusively male thing, that's a crock of shit Marlene: If I was heavy handed with one of my exes I'd get so much shit Marlene: He gets boys will be boys Marlene: It's not a big deal because you're making excuses for him Ali: From who? The lesbian mafia? Ali: Straight girls are INSANE Ali: way worse than #4 was ever Ali: I'm not gonna burn him at the stake for something I don't believe in Marlene: Straight girls are a whole other subject Marlene: Last I checked you didn't have any of them as exes so no really the point Ali: That you know of Marlene: I know about every one of your exes Ali: Okay, Liam Neeson Ali: can't be calling out stalkers when you're breathing down the phone like that 😂 Marlene: You're not funny Ali: I am though Ali: but I ain't coming over if you're gonna be such a downer Marlene: Are you serious? Marlene: Your jokes are so bad I can't tell Ali: Duh Ali: Killing my vibe, babe Marlene: You're basically here Ali: So? Ali: I can keep walking into this dark night Marlene: So come in Marlene: I'm sorry, baby Ali: You promise you're gonna stop being lame? Marlene: Cross my heart Ali: Okay, lemme in then

[ratherhavetheblues]

THE COENS’ THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS “All day I’ve faced a barren waste/Without the taste of water, cool water…”

© 2019 by James Clark

     In many ways, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018), looks to a past leaving it nearly an anachronism. The helmsmen here, Joel and Ethan Coen, have, in their business affairs, been forced to locate their complex communications in the swill of the multi-cocktail Happy Hour known as Netflix. (Years before, David Lynch, apropos of the vein now virulent, was heard to declare, “I didn’t make this picture for your damn phone.”)

As you probably know, the boys are nothing if not resilient, and with this unwelcome matter in the air they prove to be even more feisty and irreverent than usual. Their strategy to be large as life is a wild and wonderful tour de force. Inasmuch as this film with a vengeance is multi-faceted, let’s ease into it by way of its amusingly wicked parody of Millennials, those softies utterly disinclined to show up at a theatre to see a Coens’ film.

You might think the lads are staging some kind of revival of Cowboys and Indians entertainment, inasmuch as the setting is the “Wild West,” and its six vignettes comprise the product seen to be slices (in various tones) of the fateful drama of what used to be a big money-maker. Actor, Tim Blake Nelson—directly addressing the audience as if it were packed with fast friends—leads off with a singing cowboy, Buster Scruggs, so hilarious in enjoying his domain that we barely register that the song he so confidently sings is about dying of thirst (“Cool Water”) and that he takes low-key umbrage that one of his wanted posters accuses him of being a misanthrope (his horse whinnying in support when prompted to consider that the charge is patently unfair). That he brightens up with the thought that “Song never fails to sooth my restless heart,” constitutes the first of many displays of assurance that heavy baggage can be exorcised on the order of a good cleaning lady. (The writer/ performer of the song, “Cool Water,” Marty Robbins, was not only a country/Western musical profit-centre in the Nixon-era, but also a NASCAR driver, always in the hunt. On one racing occasion, he was seriously injured swerving into a wall to avert smashing into a stalled vehicle. Hold that thought in fathoming the protagonists stalled here, in other ways.)

Buster visits two bars along that musical afternoon, and although his tenderfoot appearance elicits disdain from the regulars, he manages to maintain some of the tenets of a civilization which emphasizes sweetness and light, and also systematic/ mechanistic advantage. On the first visit, asking for whisky, he’s told that, “This is a dry county…” Noticing that everyone is drinking, he points out the discrepancy and his temerity tweaks someone to recognize him as, “The Texas Twit.” Buster corrects that whisky-driven rudeness to, “The Texas Kid” and, being a virtuoso technician has to shoot the uncontrolled mental-health victim with a bullet symmetrically placed in his forehead. That is followed by Buster’s vigorous massacre of the bad-mouth’s friends, including one wounded at the doorway to be needles, “I’ll leave you to the wolves and the gila monsters.” Confidently moving along to the bar in the next town, the straight-shooter complies with the establishment’s gun-check policy. He soon (ever the games-player, presaging cyber-mayhem) is at a poker table being coerced to take up the hand of somebody, perhaps feigning, needing to leave quickly. Buster takes exception to the irregularity, eliciting from the pushy, burly and surly contestant the problem of a six-shooter in his face. Always expecting from others sweet reason, the Texas Kid points out the violation of the authority’s rules of passivity. Of course the unreasonable one prepares to do away with an obstacle, but he meets acrobatic Buster’s resort to stomping on the several planks consisting of the gaming table, each time breaking parts of the gunman’s face. Our protagonist goes into a victory lap, singing about the loser in terms of “Surly Joe,” a bit of professionalism and wit which enthralls the room and also us, somewhat. We are especially touched—beyond the volatile emotional outpouring—by Buster’s being located in a social media heaven, going viral. (Part of the deadly improv consisted of the plaint, “He never really took to empathy…” followed by the smug axiom, “When you’re unarmed, your tactics might gonna be downright Archimedean ” [the latter being remembered for an effective screw].) Interrupting the fun, the victim’s brother cries out, “You killed my brother!” and he demands a shoot-out on the dusty street. The muddled and aged aggrieved is far from a gun-geek and the people’s choice toys with him, shooting off four of his fingers. (He had swaggered out to the site, remarking, “I should go into the undertaking business.”) Supposedly charming us with his bonhomie, he grants the “geezer’s” not knowing give-up; and, with only one bullet left (having geared up with the six-shooter but not the pair of effete collectible micro-shooters which he calls “princesses”) he decides on a “trick shot” with a mirror and shooting backwards (his supposed constituents holding firm). With that show done, another begins. A man in black, the sartorial opposite to Buster’s creamy white (would you call the former, “Death?”), playing a doleful harmonica, rides slowly to the trick-shot zone. And, being another simplistic country/ Western singer, he declares he’ll reap the bounty on Buster’s head. Buster, unarmed now without his gadgetry, has a moment of less insulation (“I should have seen this coming, Can’t be top dog forever…”). Shot symmetrically in his forehead, our majoritarian has taken the easy way to sustain joy. To the song the hunter in black sings, “When a Cowboy Trades his Spurs for Wings,” Buster is shown with angel wings coursing high above problematical life. His parting words here have to do with certainty of life after death, because—conformist-style—so many have written to that effect. Likes!

A scintillating Buster like that comes down the pike rather seldom. In the second chapter, the young hacker can’t even gain the affection of his horse. Thinking a solitary bank, manned by another geezer, would be something to keep him in 5-star dinners for a while, he discovers that the old are not always the weak and the ridiculous. The contretemps involves him having a shot-up leg in being suckered that the big denominations are near the floor, under the counter. While the sprightly banker repairs for some protective coating, our protagonist clears out the till and limps to the stone well in the yard. There he’s snubbed by his less than wonder-horse, who could have effected an escape. (Settling for a clunker seeming OK, if you imagine a life of ease has to involve an angel replacing every wreck.) The banker returns wearing pots and pans, and the marauder’s efforts to kill him bounce off. An uncool local posse strings him up, the horse now on hand to lurch forward and let the rope on the tree branch work the nose. The officiating judge tells him he now has his opportunity to say his piece, before dying. First, he decries, as a primordial crisis, the unfairness of the banker’s armor. An argument erupts about who gets the horse, and the voice of the new declares no one should get it. At this juncture of smallness an Indian war party appears, sending arrows into necks and putting an end to reveries for those whose reveries go nowhere. The nemesis here is as shallow as the one in the first episode, the Coens’ irreverence being truly wild. The dude with the noose is spared by a chieftain on the (false) basis of thoroughgoing challenge of authority. With everyone in sight dead, except the tied-up complainer and his recalcitrant horse, there ensues the clown-show, slow-motion acrobatics of his attempting to dismount without strangulation—he leaning back, and the inattentive mount meandering as he nibbles on some weeds. He sees a horseman and a few cattle, calls out, is rescued, and soon they regard each other as “sidekicks.” Within the same hour the newcomer bolts away from an oncoming posse after cattle rustlers; and the bank robber goes to the gallows on an erroneous charge. His having recently escaped one execution seems to have allowed him to strike a brazen tone in the vicinity of the hangman. (But perhaps he and many of his sidekicks, from years before, had been beneficiaries of a stunning leniency.) Tied up on a four-noose extravaganza in a town turned out for the morbid event, the failed bank-robber looks for something good turning up. An elderly felon cries and the insouciant youngster asks, “Your first time?” He spots a pretty woman in the crowd. Their eyes meet, and she smiles. The black hood covers his head. From the perspective of inside the hood there is a crunch and a cheering clientele. What wouldn’t miss, missed.

Another presumptuous figure, follows. But unlike the first two, he generates far more cogent passion. In the wintry Northwest mountain ranges, where mortals find nothing easy, a young man with no arms and no legs sings for his supper on a cold roadway as enclosed by a proscenium arch and stage, doubling as a caravan. His “song” involves declaiming stirring instances of a fate of finitude few mortals take to heart. The eeriness of his presence is enough to whet curiosity. But, far from a freak-show, as we discern this outreach, his skill in dramatic expression is of a caliber to haunt and maybe elicit reflection. A keynote of his performance is the sonnet, “Ozymandias,” engaged by the poet Shelley. as drawn to lyricism by the “recent,” 19th century discovery of a Pharaoh’s tomb—far more mineral than personal. Not only does he convey the emotive pathos of the impermanence of all creatures; but in reciting the Gettysburg Address he brings to bear the paradox of powerful love for human kind. Moreover, in an onstage scene called, “The Sash my Father Wore,” his commitment iterates the exigency of going to war—perhaps military, perhaps the wider and deeper factors of struggle every day of one’s life. This first performance we see is well appreciated and rewarded. The impresario feeds him some morsels of meat; but such a viable constellation does not last long—the fickle clientele far more amenable regarding the catchy enough oddity than the rare spoken and facially powerful gifts. The burden of “Ozymandias” and the fading of fame bites rapidly to the point of the businessman, seeing how popular a “mathematical chicken” could be, changing the show and dumping the orator into a rushing cataract. That the food had become indigestible and then no more was one more (and monstrously problematic) ingredient of the dubious calculus counting upon the world to gratify one’s thriving. Also, the performer’s insufficient food and mounting desperation resulted in a fine heart becoming a mediocrity. Perhaps his campaign was based upon suddenly needing to find kindred spirits to help him survive. As such he would be a barometer of his era’s sensitivities, and ours. There is a scene where the “Professor,” still caring to a point, visits a bordello, with his carrying his associate; and he turns the little man facing away from the bed. The hooker wonders if all of his appendages are gone. That excruciating, shared strangeness, flows to the measure of remorse after the murdering. Zaniness arrested, this singular expediency widens, deepens and tempers the jolly hatchet job.

Chapter Four features a protagonist even older than the impresario, who becomes an unlikely inspiration to those not finnicky about the full measure of facticity, in their film experience. Whereas the foregoing three dramas had been situated in badlands or austere, cold darkness, here we have a near paradisal valley, replete with many monarch butterflies and ravishing woodlands creatures. An elderly prospector and his cute donkey enter this range through a narrow opening in a thick, green forest, and the jaunty protagonist, a veritable Santa Claus, proceeds to pan for gold in a lovely stream. Before finding his mother lode, he had climbed a tree to loot four owl eggs, with a beautiful mother owl watching untroubled nearby, giving you just one of many moments that only a Mexican strategist and his far-flung fans could like. Perhaps Disney sanguinity infuses the sequel, where those owl eyes have an effect, and he replaces three of the four eggs. The rationale, “She won’t have remembered how many she had,” smacks of a constituency of shoplifters. As if this were not alone Academy Award enticement, the old elf comes to us in song—“Oh, God keep you, Mother McCree…” After back-breaking toil and impressive savvy, he finds the Bonanza, only to be attacked by a gunman. Shot in the back, his jersey becoming a blood-red blotter, he waits his turn to turn the tables. He kills his adversary and walks out of the pit where his gut was blown away, revealing his intestines pouring out on the ground. He’s heard to insist, “It didn’t hurt nothin’ important.” Next day, he’s in a clean shirt and looking pretty good, looking like The Revenant. His tag-line, “There’s a pocket up there. Where, I don’t know,” is a limp cliché. But it conceals everything the virals won’t touch. Similarly, the declamation, “I’m old but you’re [the gold] older,” mocks the primordial, with self-satisfaction.

Demonstrating that there are vast options to skin a cat, we now come to a composition called, “The Girl Who Got Rattled.” Our protagonist may be a young nineteenth-century woman taking orders from a brother about a spiel of very lucrative matrimony which would greatly help his floundering business career; but it is her own reckoning which tells us something about life today. At a boarding house in a “civilized” State of the Union, she’s made much of by the presiding host, in sharp distinction from how the latter regards an elderly woman who has fallen asleep at the dining table. That the girl’s imminent trip by covered wagon train to Oregon has been speculative with no firm commitment of marriage in sight (not unlike Buster’s being drawn to heaven); and only the feckless urging of an underperforming and exaggerating sibling to count upon, introduces to us, notwithstanding the era, to a figure sanguine to a fault. (Another boarder, a middle-aged man, who would, over the months, have seen through their effete wishfulness, strikes a tone of down-to-earth being disregarded in not only unpleasant ways but also in very dangerous ways.)

Once on the go, the weak brother soon dies of a cholera phenomenon which, to put the matter in full relief, could be called a plague. (The optics of the ox-wagon train must put into critical relief a very different protagonist, namely, Emily, in Kelley Reichardt’s film, Meek’s Cutoff [2010], a figure evincing a progress of courage and circumspection truly of another world from the placid and vaguely safety-net-assured, Alice Longabaugh [pronounced, Longbow].) The Coens’ film’s momentum of upending, has, by this stage, spotlighted not a single trace of strong coherence. Here, though, there is a partial equilibrium, requiring the rather reckless depiction of Indians being very inept, whereby to place Alice in a fool’s paradise, or Wonderland. This circuitous range of parody may best be disclosed with regard to the recently-deceased brother, and his spunky terrier, “President Pierce.” She remarks, after the burial on the range that Gilbert, her brother, “did very little,” but radiated intense political views, which she abhorred (in her once-over-lightly way). President Pierce, the politician, was a one-term American President just before the Civil War, whose lack of consideration for blacks sowed much turmoil. As with the rough trade about “wild Indians,” Alice, being remarkably confrontational, in her pat, namby-pamby way, channels to the present time, where political correctness has become a gigantic and cirrhosis creed, particularly amongst young, diet-puritan women. Hearing about her plight and her brother’s politics, the handsome young straw-boss of the junket, namely, Billy. is quick and pleased to pronounce, “He was a failure.” That ruthless assessment, by one being a member of her generation, clearly coincides with the protagonist’s needs. In the same vein, she’s in a quandary about many of her fellow travelers’ annoyance caused by President Pierce refusing to stop barking. He offers to put down the dog, and she doesn’t bat an eye finding it the way to go. She plugs her ears  The Good Samaritan, however, flubs the shooting.  He tells her, “We’ve seen the last of the President.” A few days later he’s back She finds she has had Gilbert buried many miles back, having left all of her funds in one of his pockets. The youngster tending to the oxen—having been promised a wildly inflated salary—begins to want some down payment. Billy promises to deal with the matter; but he soon admits he doesn’t have a clue. More of the same, the young outdoorsman finds that Alice, the low-wattage misadventurist, is his kind of girl. He proposes, and she quickly accepts. Though neither has any skills for life in a frontier town, they plan to settle down there. Their ace-in the hole is a one-off  premium for married couples.

Apparently inured to the neighbors taking umbrage, she’s seen, with the canine survivor on her lap, straying away on her pony from the train and having a Saturday Night Live giggle about a prairie dog colony. Her Wonderland quickly sours when an Indian war party comes to play. The senior guide, Mr. Arthur, had noticed her disappearance and was able to single-handedly rout the dubious warriors. But, with the battle in doubt, Alice, crouching in a sort of pot hole, uses the suicide revolver, a sort of magic cake, provided for the possibility that the expert warrior might be killed. A lack of fight, extending beyond unruly mobs.

In the final vignette, middle-aged stage-coach riders hope to convince their fellow-travelers that they have everything figured out. (Here, in contrast to Alice and Billy, in having a flood of facile clichés, most of the premises in the coach have been subjected to long-term perception.) A trapper displays his gift for clever gab, as disarming the assumption that he is of no account. He had for years lived with an Indian woman who knew no English, just as he knew nothing of her language. His kernel of discovery involves that range of communication whereby it is possible to share a remarkable level of understanding by body language. His own pell-mell fluency, however, lands him in a bemusing embarrassment. Shifting from elevated one-to-one to amateur anthropology, the laborer hastily insists, “People are like ferrets.” A lady coming to reunite with her husband (a minister of the cloth and a theologian), after being with her daughter and the latter’s children for three years, begs to differ. She posits the more complicated situation of the upright and the sinning. That brings into the fray an elegantly dressed French bounty hunter, who, with Cartesian confidence, concludes that “one can’t know another’s soul.” The lady counters with, “Any decent person knows of eternal love, the love of the Creator.” A Polish gambler ridicules her position, and gets hit over the head with her umbrella. He then goes forward with a probability that her daughter had been eager to get her out of the household; and that her husband could not have sustained love during her long absence. His Slavic accent and poker deceptiveness adds to the aura of certainty about the traditional bonds rotting away, to the advantage of cynics and fatalists. (More important than the ideas floating around, is the gulf between this series of taking a stand by going to some trouble, and the smoothie addiction in the foregoing stories.) The French killer, with a lucrative corpse on the roof, has a partner. The latter is the one pulling the trigger while the diminutive Parisian chats up the prey to lull the victim to an easy death. This more middle-of-the-road figure has a fine singing voice and he proceeds to shower the company with a heartfelt rendition of, “The Streets of Laredo.” “I saw a young cowboy wrapped up in white linen…” Within the calm in effect from the song, the Gallic spellbinder treats the assembly to the land he really inhabits, and its conveyance. He evokes an aura derived from the moment the wanted man realizes his death has commenced. “The passage to death.” (Conjuring such intensity accomplishes [or hopes to accomplish] more than a disclosure of matter of fact. The French connection has opened a door to the surreal, the more real. Such mood enacts energies surpassing normal communication, but including its generally underestimated sensual presence. Soldiers of fortune. What could that mean, about change going forward?) Though that pristine moment fades, and on reaching the hotel the pair joke about possibly displaying the corpse along a corridor for the night, the mystery of that passage to death holds forth in another way. With the travelers in their hotel late at night, the coach makes a turn-around and races at full speed passed the place of arguers and swayers of truth. The tight linkage of the team of horses recalls the engagement of another group of flounderers being dragged along a nondescript countryside by the spectacle of Death, in Bergman’s The Seventh Seal.

Aspects of that latter film saturate The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, and their presence here add to the questioning about happy (even goofy, even lethal) trails in the 21st century. With happy-go-lucky Buster on horseback and singing, we have an amalgam of, first of all, the vigorous, bawdy, Squire Jons, far more viable than his precious master, the knight, Block. But in the gathering of that harp and those angel wings, we have a Buster buying into Block’s obsession for immortality. Jons excels in cleaning up nasty bars and other places where inferior entities should not be, though they pose extreme difficulty; but, in the end, he joins with Block in that linkage driven by the phenomenon of Death. (The veer to pointlessness for those once on top of the world, being a cinematic volatile, endowment of the other kind of energy our energy-mad planet won’t touch.) The song Scruggs (a name first of all seeming too rude for his wit and couth) sings for us at the fanfare carries a quirky version of Bergman’s duo of persistent ease, and a down-to-earth warrior/ wag. First, we have Jons: “All day I’ve faced the barren waste/ Without the taste of water, cool water/ Old Dan and I with throats burned dry for water/ Cool, clear water.” [Now Block] “The nights are cool and I’m a fool/ Each star’s a pool of water/ Cool, clear water. And with the dawn I’ll wake and yawn/ And carry on to water/ Cool, clear water.” And now, a sorely put-upon employee denounces that unhinged leader. (Here the factor of misanthrope comes forward with its paradoxical juggling.) “Keep a-movin’, Dan, dontcha listen to him, Dan/ He’s a devil, not a man/ And he spreads the burning sand with water…” Back to the deus ex machina (a millennial instinct as old as the hills). “Dan, can ya see that big, green tree?/ Where the water’s runnin’ free/ And it’s waiting there for you and me?/ Water/ Cool, clear water” [always metaphorically there for the right acrobat]. “The shadows sway and seem to say/ Tonight we pray for water/ Cool, clear water/ And way up there He’ll hear our prayer/ And show us where there’s water.”

The most notable feature of the ho-hum robber, in the second episode—over and above his being an inveterate predator upon wealth he doesn’t own, and, therefore a version of the clergyman who became a thief upon victims of the plague, in The Seventh Seal—is his being a witness to the noisy and blood-letting flagellants peeking out from that Indian war party, temporarily saving his skin. Here the boys touch upon—here, and later—the matter of a Happy Hunting Ground, supposedly reached by such observances. Irreverence, reminding us that other passions (far less showy and presumptuous) occupy the field and spread a frisson for those who have taken the trouble.

The lucky “sweetheart” in the gold business brings aboard The Seventh Seal’s reflective performer, Jof, the inventor of acrobatics and impossible juggling. The childish prospector serves as a contrast to real uncanniness and delight.

The tale of the damaged thespian evokes the mad woman prisoner, caged and headed for burning at the stake (in our Bergman shoot-out), on the pretext that it was she and her impiety who caused the plague—when, in fact, you could say the plague has always been here, and always will, millennials bringing on, with their overexposure to cheap thrills, their special poison.

Alice and her tepid Wonderland traces to the caravan of Jof’s wife (the “practical one”).

And the coach in the last hurrah—pegged as a death march along the sightlines of The Seventh Seal—now shows, in the unstinting power and flair of the horses, a fresh dynamic. A bit stressed though our helmsmen might be, they’re still alive and kicking.      

#coen brothers

[officialydonefanfiction]

Split Across the Continents Chapter #11

The Hayes’ house was in a fairly seedy part of town with two floors and a small back yard. Sophie’s room for the mission was fairly small but comfortable with a twin bed, small desk and a dresser. It didn’t matter much to her as she didn’t really intend to stay in it for long. They had all moved in the previous day with the intent for Sophie to start school the next day. Tony and Ziva were sitting at the kitchen table sipping on mugs of either tea or coffee feeling slightly on edge. Sophie had been in the house about ten minutes before she had spotted some of the neighbourhood kids hanging out in a dilapidated old playground and she had figured it would be best if she went and showed her face. Ziva had been about to stop her when she remembered that Sophie’s primary goal was to get involved in the gang as opposed to keeping her away from it.

The kids hanging out in the playground were made up of all ages and colours with the unifying thing between them being the extreme boredom. Sophie knew that there was a Youth Centre a few blocks away but she also knew that any place specifically designed for kids is the last place they would pick to go to. The oldest kid there was a tall guy who had his arm around a scantily dressed girl and they were sharing a cigarette. A couple of of other kids were intent on setting fire to a trash can whilst the youngest kids including a few Sophie’s age were standing awkwardly around unsure of where they were supposed to go. Sophie sidled up to one of the kids who looked a little lost, a skinny girl with big hair and a nervous smile. “Hi, I just moved in down the street. Is there anything good going on round here?” Sophie started watching the girl. “Not much. Welcome to the world’s most boring shithole.” The girl muttered but she didn’t sound unwelcoming. She pulled out her cellphone and started tapping out a text. “I’m Sophie.” Sophie added. “Kendra.” “Have you lived around here for long?” Sophie tried to keep the conversation casual. “All my life. Where’d the accent come from?” Kendra asked showing the smallest interest in keeping up the conversation. “Britain. Lived there until recently. Got kicked out my old school.” This perked up Kendra’s interest. She looked up from her cell phone, peering at Sophie. “What for?” “Messing around too much, ditching school, that sort of thing.” Sophie replied. “Same here. School’s boring. You know something, Sophie, if you get to school tomorrow and don’t feel like sticking around, me and some others are gonna go to the mall, get some clothes, you know?” Kendra added, her tone suddenly turning conspicuous. “Is this the sort of trip where I’m not going to need money?” Sophie caught on quickly smiling at Kendra. “Not if you don’t feel like paying.” Kendra smiled at her, seeming warm for the first time since they met.

At that moment, there was a massive tire squeal and a flashy convertible screeched to a stop next to the teenagers. In the driver’s seat there was a ripped, six foot six dude with a shaved head pumping the gas whilst head banging along to a pop song that was blaring out of the speakers. Next to him was a big chested girl who was also singing along with her voice muted by the speakers. In the back there was another couple, heartily making out. Some of the bigger guys piled onto the hood, dragging a few of the other kids in with them. “Finally something interesting going on here.” Kendra said as she smirked at Sophie. Kendra and Sophie were quite a bit younger than the other teenagers so made no move to pile into the car with the others. “Gonna join us Kendra?” An older boy yelled at her. “No thanks Micky. Don’t want to get in on your foursome with the other guys.” Kendra yelled back as the others all jeered at her burn. “Roasted by the kid sister.” One of them yelled as he punched who Sophie assumed was Micky on the shoulder. Micky punched him back and made a move to go hit his sister when someone yelled from the end of the road. “Coppers! Coppers!” The scramble in the car was massive as the guy in the driver’s seat slammed on the gas and the car screeched away taking the teenagers with it. Kendra flicked the bird before starting to run. Sophie chased after her as the sirens got closer. Kendra and Sophie ducked down a back alley that led towards the youth centre. They both slowed to a walk as Kendra fought to catch her breath. Sophie’s extensive training meant that the two hundred feet that they had run was not enough to wind her but clearly this short distance was enough to have Kendra fighting for breath. “If any of the coppers come round here, we were both in the Youth Centre. They nick anyone round here.” Kendra muttered to Sophie as they went into the Youth Centre. It had opened up just a few months ago but it was already covered in graffiti with the pool tables ripped. A couple of eight-year-olds were playing on the X-Box with a half hearted supervisor reading a romance novel in the corner. Kendra grabbed a pool cue before throwing another one at Sophie. Everyone else at the playground seemed to have had the same idea of reconvening at the Youth Centre. As it was only seven in the evening, it was too early to go home but nobody fancied being arrested either. There was an unspoken agreement that when the cops came knocking everyone would claim that they were at the Youth Centre the whole time and every other kid would back them up. “How long till the cops get here?” Sophie asked feeling her cellphone vibrate in her pocket. Kendra shrugged before hitting one of the balls with her pool cue. “Depends if they can catch the guys in the car. Kyle, the driver, was high as a kite so it should be a fairly quick chase. Kind of stupid for them to pinch a judge’s car though.” Kendra muttered. “It’s all flash and there was no way that they could strip it down fast enough to sell so that was all for show. My Mom is gonna be super mad if Micky was caught.” Sophie listened to all this nodding along. Kendra seemed to be implying that they regularly stole cars for parts but there was nothing in the briefing that had mentioned that. “They get cars for parts?” Sophie asked quietly. “Yeah. My brother works for some garage and he says that parts are worth far more than the full car. Never seen Micky do it but doesn’t surprise me if he is selling stuff on the side.” Kendra said as Sophie played her shot. The white ball smacked into two balls causing them to both roll into the end pocket. Sophie punched the air in victory and offered her cue to Kendra. “Cops have just walked in.” Sophie added as she handed the cue over. Sophie felt her phone buzz again and discreetly pulled it out of her pocket. Five missed calls from Ziva and twice as many texts. She scrolled through picking up the general message of picking up her phone as well as wanting to know where she was. Sophie tapped out a message detailing her location and telling her not to worry. Sophie rolled her eyes at the immediate reply she got telling her to come home. Sophie rolled her eyes at this. She had made friends and not been arrested on the first day. This should be counted as a win. Sophie replied asking if it was supper, their code for asking if it was an emergency. The reply was immediate but that it wasn’t an emergency. Sophie pocketed the phone, managing not to reply sarcastically but nonetheless angry at Ziva. The cops were going round asking the kids if they knew anyone in the car. Sophie and Kendra were both overlooked in their rounds, probably they assumed that they were too young. Sophie and Kendra played a few more rounds of pool whilst the police did their round. “Okay kids, time to head home. Best not show your faces outside tonight.” The middle-aged cop yelled to the crowd at the end of the interrogation. There was some grumbling as the kids gradually began to drift towards the door. “This is boring anyway.” “Nothing exciting happens here anyway.” “Wanna hit my place?” The conversations of the older kids drifted away as Sophie and Kendra left the building. They walked together back down the alley they had come from. Both of them were shivering in just their hoodies. Sophie wished she had brought her coat. “See you tomorrow at school?” Kendra confirmed as she turned to head down a different street. “Yeah, I should probably make sure my Mom’s head doesn’t explode.” Sophie smiled and both girls rolled their eyes. “My Mom doesn’t care what Micky does but if I arrive late, she goes nuts.” Kendra laughed. Sophie watched as Kendra walked down the most run down street of the neighbourhood.

Sophie continued on for a few blocks putting off answering the call from Ziva. What was her problem? Sophie was already annoyed at Ziva’s inability to leave her alone for five minutes. She stomped up the drive hugging her hoodie around herself but nonetheless pleased at her progress. She had already made a friend who knew quite a lot of what was going on. She unlocked the door to the house and immediately appreciated the warmth. She hoped she could sneak upstairs before facing Ziva. She had kind of ditched them earlier without much warning but then mission first. Sophie was unlucky in her attempt as Ziva called her into the kitchen. Sophie sauntered into the kitchen catching sight of Gibbs, Sam, Tony, and Ziva. Sophie mentally cheered at this, she could just give a mission progress report and then go shower. “How did it go?” Sam was the first one to ask her. “Great. I have made friends with Kendra. From what I gathered, her brother works for a dodgy garage that sells on spare parts for cars. She mentioned that a couple of guys were drug users and she had a fairly good knowledge of what to do if the cops came knocking showing me that she had dealt with cops before. We are meeting up at school tomorrow.” Sophie reported leaving out the detail where she was skipping school. Unit J agents are allowed to break the law to keep their cover but Sophie didn’t particularly want to hand over her stolen goods that came with being allowed to break the law. She also remembered in that moment that most of this room were cops normally. “That’s great work, Sophie.” Sam said tapping the new information into his laptop. “Did you catch the name of the brother?” “Kendra said that his name was Micky but I am guessing that it’s a nickname.” Sophie replied her stomach rumbling with hunger. Maybe Tony and Ziva had made some food… Sophie was startled by Ziva sudden exclamation which Sophie could tell she had been waiting to make. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Ziva exploded. Sophie had been expecting this but still felt indignant. Did she not understand the concept of undercover work? “If you are trying to get in with the type of people who deal drugs, I can’t just answer the phone to a worried parent every time you call? How pathetic does that make me look?” Sophie snapped back. “All we heard was the police sirens and tire screeching and we didn’t know if there had been a hit and run! We didn’t know if you were hurt!” Ziva continued as if she hadn’t heard her. Tony touched her arm as if trying to calm down. Sophie just stared open mouthed at her before she grabbed a bag of chips and went upstairs trying to control her anger. She slumped on the bed stuffing a few chips into her mouth in one go. Salt and Vinegar flavoured weren’t her favourite but was enough to control her anger. Between each mouthful of chips, Sophie muttered about not being able to answer the phone whilst she was undercover. She angrily thought of how her last mission had allowed her to be completely solo, often not talking to a mission controller for weeks whilst gathering intel. She had managed to save hundreds of lives when she had discovered the bomb plot yet here she was getting yelled at for being in a rough neighbourhood for a few hours.

Downstairs, everyone was still reeling at Ziva’s outburst. Ziva had calmed herself down and even felt a little ashamed. Eventually Sam spoke up. “Ziva, Sophie is right. This was just a showing your face type of interaction. There will be periods of time where she won’t be answering her phone or being able to be in contact with anyone. If you have a problem with that, then we need to address this now.” Sam said quietly. He had been just as shocked as Sophie as her outburst. “Sophie has a lot of experience working alone and probably is not appreciating you underestimating her. I will go talk to her.” Sam added as he made his way over to the staircase. “Get it together, both of you or this mission will fall apart. Now is not the time to mourn the loss of your daughter or be scared for Sophie. She has the training to keep herself safe. Make up with her tonight.” Gibbs commanded before leaving the house. Ziva sank into the chair trying to comprehend what she had just done. When she hadn’t been able to contact Sophie, she had flashed back to the months of radio silence when she first lost her daughter. That fear had manifested itself and all she could feel was the terror of being in the dark. “Are you okay?” Tony settled beside her. “I am tired of feeling scared. Sophie isn’t even mine but all I could think was how scared I was when I heard the sirens and to know that it’s just going to get worse…” Ziva trailed off fighting to control her breathing. “She has more training than us in dealing with this. You should probably go talk to her about this.” Tony added. “Employ our own rule of never going to bed angry with each other.” Ziva nodded feeling confident that she wasn’t going to start crying.

Sam had talked to Sophie saying that she had done good work but to try to manage a text every so often confirming her whereabouts. Sophie had since calmed down and wanted to go take a shower looking forward to the warm water on her otherwise cold body when she heard the knock on her door. Ziva walked into the tiny room and settled next to her on her bed. Sophie stared at the ceiling not really in the mood to talk to them. “Gibbs has a set of rules, one of which is to never apologize. He says it’s a sign of weakness. I am going to make an exception to the rule here.” Ziva started her voice even. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I know you were just doing your job and I overreacted to you being gone for so long.” Sophie looked at her for a while. She had never before had an adult apologize to her and mean it. “It’s okay.” Sophie said in a small voice smiling to show she meant it. Sophie was then completely taken off guard when Ziva pulled her into a hug. As a Unit J agent, she didn’t have lots of people hugging her. The carers when she was a junior agent had hugged her but in recent years, she could count on one hand the hugs she had had. Ziva just pulled her in and wrapped her arms around her and Sophie nearly froze up. Her head was resting just below her shoulder with the rest of her body being held against Ziva’s. It felt weird but nice and she didn’t feel as cold anymore. Ziva felt everything in her settle for a bit and the fear was for the moment muted in how calm she felt. Sophie had frozen for a second and Ziva remembered that as an undercover agent, Sophie didn’t have a family back in the UK so she probably wasn’t hugged that much. The thought of the young girl currently sitting in her lap not being hugged was enough for Ziva to hold her more tightly. She watched as Tony poked his head round the door. “Everything okay?” He had mouthed. Ziva nodded in response before shifting Sophie into a slightly more comfortable position and holding her tightly for as long as she could get away with.

#ncis #tiva #family #fanfic #casefic